


Spare Parts

by AvatarofJord



Series: Spare Parts Universe [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom!Kraglin, Cybernetics, Established Relationship, F/M, Kraglin-centric, M/M, Past Torture, Ravager Culture, Ravager angst, Switching, Top!Yondu, Yondu Fix-It, bad medicine, poor descriptions of spaceships, shamless headcanon, what is science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarofJord/pseuds/AvatarofJord
Summary: The first time Peter sees Kraglin's arm, hes 10.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first work in the fandom. This is only the second time in YEARS that i've felt the urge to write a fanfic. But I've been pretty consistently in Kragdu hell since the second movie came out. No beta, and I confess i'm notorious for not finishing things once i start them. I'm sure this has a lot of holes and inconsistencies. This little bit of headcanon just showed up one day and has been slowly rolling around my brain and it had to go somewhere, I've chosen to inflict it on you. It really came from me wanting to see a fic where Kraglin really DIDN'T like Peter, rather than parent or ambivalent Kraglin. Side note: i struggle with comedic writing so this will probably be unduly serious.

The first time Peter sees Kraglin’s arm he’s ten years old. He’s skulking around the back quadrant of the Eclector, barred from the bridge for being too much of a pain in his captain’s ass. Honestly it’s a common occurrence these days, now that Yondu has actually allowed him to start going with on missions. Peter’s learned, of everyone he’s allowed to voice an opinion. His captain isn’t really going to eat him, no matter what the ornery blue bastard says. But as there is no mission to plan for, and he’s avoiding cleaning the galley floor, like all the other members of the crew do when it’s their turn, he’s decided to explore the less frequented parts of the ship. 

Peter hasn’t quite figured out how the Eclector is put together, nearest he can tell it’s made up of a bunch of smaller vessels all soldered together with pieces of scrap. He’s not totally convinced it isn’t held together with bubblegum in some places. Especially this room, which appears half hazardly wired through, red hazard lights blinking in a steady heartbeat, cables hanging out of holes in the ceiling, a wayward spark shooting off in a corner where the circuit is live but unfinished. And at the center, hung up like a scrawny wingless bat is the not-first-mate-but-more-than-a-bridge-officer. He’s got a rubber wrapped cable in his mouth, shiny razor teeth dangerously close to cutting into it, and a holo-display pad in hand. The leather ravager jumpsuit is tied at the arms around his waist. When he notices Peter he spits the cable out onto the floor.

“The flark you doing back here?” Kraglin’s tone is annoyed to start, and he doesn’t stop working. Out of all the crew, besides Horuz, Peter’s sussed out that Kraglin hates him the worst. He scowls at Peter every time he sees him, trips him when the captain’s not looking and takes great joy in overseeing the paltry punishments Yondu deals out for perceived misbehavior. Where Horuz tends to think of Peter as a logistical handicap, Kraglin’s dislike has always felt very personal. He’s still not sure what Kraglin’s rank on the ship actually is even after two years. He seems to do a little bit of everything and where he never back talks on the bridge, Peter’s overheard him arguing with the captain in private. Something even Horuz doesn’t manage. Kraglin being the captain’s late night booty call probably has something to do with it. 

But, weird unspoken authority or no, Peter’s learned not to let the Xandarian spook him. He shrugs in answer to the question and meanders closer to where Kraglin is dangling, peering up into a hole in the inner hull of the ship. Kraglin scowls at him from above and swats at him. The flashing red emergency light doesn’t do his ugly mug any favors and makes Peter think of the vampires from The Lost Boys. His mustache grows down the sides of his mouth in straight lines before turning up into his full tufted sideburns, a small patch of beard grows straight down his chin. It all serves to frame out Kraglin’s titanium chompers, pointed and vicious when he growls at Peter. 

“Ain’tchu got eyes to see when a man is workin’ in a vol-i-tile en-vi-ron-ment?” He over enunciates the last two words with the hick accent common amongst the crew as he cuffs Peter on the side of the head with the holopad. “Git out!”

“The hell you doin’ up there?” Peter says rubbing his head and wiping his nose. He peers up at Kraglin again, making eye contact and holding it. He refuses to be intimidated no matter how much Kraglin might hate him. Ravagers don’t show fear. That’s when the bright shine of a cybernetic limb catches his eye.

Kraglin rolls his eyes at the kid, scowl still set permanently on his face, as he drops down from the ceiling. He readjusts the jumpsuit arms around his waist and wipes an oily hand on his dingy sleeveless undershirt. 

“Watch your language you little scrote. And what I’m doing aren’t none of your business.” Kraglin sticks his beaky nose in Peter’s face and jabs a finger in his chest before standing back up and peering down on him, arms crossed over his narrow chest. “Now I’m a say it again, git your terran hide out of here.” 

“I didn’t know you were a robot.” Kraglin purses his lips, puffs his cheeks and takes a breath. Peter knows about cybernetics, hell most of the crew have some kind of augmentation, but the way Kraglin pulls his left arm, the clunky red and silver cybernetic one, a little closer to himself lets him know it’s a sensitive issue. “How’d you lose the arm? Come up short on units one time too many? Get caught cheating at cards? ” 

Kraglin cuffs him upside the head a second time, not hard enough to actually hurt, but enough that Peter knows he’s walking down a dangerous path. Kraglin’s poor gambling abilities are a piece of common ravager knowledge. A sore point for a man who makes his living haggling. 

“Ow! What the heck is your problem Kraggles! Jus’ a joke.”

“My problem is you, still standin’ here.” He points at Peter and then points at the floor. “And don’t call me Kraggles, lessen you wanna get ate.” 

“Well, tell me how you lost the arm and I’ll go.”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask folk how they lost their limbs?” 

“No.”

“I ain’t gonna tell ya, now get out.” Kraglin makes to grab the kid, who ducks and jumps into the struts supporting the ceiling. “Get yer scrawny-”

“Who you callin’ scrawny Kraggles! If you won’t tell me I’ll have to guess. Let’s see...arm wrestled an A'askavariian?”

“No! Boy-” 

“Got it ate by a bilgesnipe!” Kraglin lunges for him again but Peter is young and bendy and on the other side of the strut before Kraglin can get him. They shuffle around it a few times, Peter laughing and evading while Kraglin chases him in a circle. They end up facing each other on opposite sides of the four central support struts. 

“I’ma give you til the count a 3. And then i’m gonna hang you up there by that music box a yours.”

“Awwe Come on, I’m just getting started!”

“Petey…” Kraglin’s scowl goes from mean to predatory and his pupils blow wide to accomodate the dark environment, before contracting into pin pricks. He runs his tongue over his teeth in a tawdry threat display. “...One”

“Infected by a sentient flesh eating disease and the captain had to cut it off before it infected the crew!”

“Two.”

“Ooh I know! Chopped off by a Kree girl for-” 

Kraglin doesn’t make it to three. At the mention of the Kree he launches himself at the boy, and this time Peter isn’t quite fast enough. Kraglin has him by the shirt for a second before he can rip it loose. His mechanical fist closes around the cord of the Walkman on his hip and Peter grabs at his hand to keep him from snapping the cord. 

“No wait!” Peter shrieks as Kraglin’s cybernetic hand flexes and yanks him off his feet. He’s twisted the cord around the back of his knuckles to maintain a better grip, and he pulls Peter up like a fish on a line.

“Gotcha!” He growls and for the first time in a long time Peter feels afraid of the Xandarian that has a hold of him.

“C’mon Kraglin I was just funnin’ ya!” 

“Funnin’ me huh? That’s what you call it?! Makin fun of people for missin’ limbs! Well lets see how fun you find an airlock!” Kraglin spits and shakes him.

_I’m about to die._ Peter thinks as he kicks at his captor and tugs at the arm holding him. He could let go of Kraglin’s arm, unclip the Walkman and escape, but he knows it wouldn’t survive Kraglin’s wrath. 

Luckily before Peter can make the choice between his Walkman and his life a whistle pierces the air and the burning trial of a yaka arrow slices between them. It travels in a long arc before returning to its master, a scowling Centaurian. Kraglin drops him without a second thought and turns on his heel to face and salute his Captain.

“What in the depths of Hel is goin’ on in here?! Obfonteri, ain’t you supposed to be repairing this here navigation center!?”

“Yes, Cap’n.” 

“He was gonna stuff me out an airlock Cap’n!” Peter interjects, brushing himself off and standing just as straight next to Kraglin. 

“This pock-faced lil-” A whistle cuts Kraglin off, but, comfortingly, the yaka arrow stays in the holster. A warning.

“Quill. Ain’t you got scrub duty, boy? That mess hall ain’t gonna clean itself.” Yondu’s eyes don’t move from the Xandarian, whose eyes have dropped to his boots and whose cheeks are hollowed as he chews on them in nervous anticipation. “Well, go on then, get.” 

Peter nods and scurries. He spares a glance back at what he can only assume is a condemned man. Kraglin scowls at him and swallows visibly. “Cap’n-” Peter starts but is cut off.

“Did I stutter boy?! Get your hide out that door before I whistle you through and dump you out the nearest airlock myself!” The threat is enough to get Peter’s legs moving again, but when he reaches the door, around the corner and concealed from the center room- a navigation room apparently- he stops. The door opens and closes, but Peter stays. Years later he still won’t be sure what compels him to turn and try to sneak back, but this incident isn’t isolated in that respect. Peter will follow his heart to many places that he later won’t be able explain.

On the other side of the detritus, spare parts and bits of broke out wall he can hear Yondu talking to Kraglin. 

“An airlock Kraglin? Really? You was gonna air hole a kid because he talked back to you?”

“It were a bit more than that Cap’n.” Peter looks around the corner and peaks at them, beady 10 year old eyes concealed in the dark, where his captain and not-the-first-mate-but-more-than-a-bridge-officer are illuminated by the red hazard light.

“Uh huh. Well I’m waitin. I’d love to hear what a _child_ said to you that had all that fur on your back bristlin’.” It’s a moment longer before Kraglin drops the formal posture and begins to pace. Yondu stands arms crossed and hip shifted to one side. 

“He’s such a stinkin’ lil’ shit Cap’n.”

“He’s a boy, Kraglin.” Yondu replies, more growl in his voice than he likely intends. It’s not as if he feels protective of Peter, certainly not. But the boy is shaping up to be quite the ravager if he can make it into adulthood. A little sentimental, a little soft, but everyone has a handicap. He’s been meaning to nip Kraglin and Horuz behaviour towards Peter in the bud for a while now, but, well other things take priority. He always figured once the kid came up the ranks they’d let it go. Once Peter was useful. “An’ if the only reason you’re mean to him is ‘cause of Stakar-”

“He made fun of my arm Cap’n!” Kraglin says through gritted teeth. Shrouded in shadows and eavesdropping on an obviously private conversation, Peter feels guilt set in. Kraglin might be a mean, ugly, sonofabitch but Peter’s not a bully. His mom taught him better than that. However the sentiment in Kraglin’s voice is unmistakable- his feelings are hurt. A long silence follows Kraglin’s declaration before Yondu audibly scoffs.

“So what? You ashamed a that arm? Got regrets about earnin’ it?” Yondu’s eyes are narrowed, lip stiff in a frown as he stares down the hairy Xandarian. 

“Cap’n…”

“Maybe you’s regretting what you traded your arm for, eh Obfonteri? Wishin you could change the past.”

“No that’s…” It seems to be dawning on Kraglin that he’s made a mistake somewhere. Although he’s not sure where exactly, and neither is Peter. He’s heard many a ravager war story, usually told by Yondu as a kind of bedtime story substitute, but some glorious tale of how “The Scrawny Xandarian Earned His Mechanical Arm” isn’t one of them. 

“You sure?! Cause from where I’m standing looks like you wishin’ you didn’t have that there arm. Maybe we should finda-”

“Yondu.” No one calls the captain by his first name. Well, except Peter when he’s being particularly belligerent. But no one else calls the captain Yondu.

“Don’tchu Yondu me, boy! Not when you’re sittin’ there feelin’ sorry for yourself! You don’t even know what you got there hanging off your spindly Xandarian carcass, ain’t appreciative of it!” Yondu’s growling, angry, with his teeth bared and eyes narrowed, jabbing his fingers into Kraglin’s bony chest. The jabs land hard enough that there will be bruises tomorrow. The fifth time Yondu pokes him Kraglin grabs at his captain’s hand and growls in his face.

“An’ what is it I got here that’s so damn great? A clunky piece of scrap that-”

“Loyalty numb-nuts!” Yondu shouts and grabs the metal arm, shakes it, red eyes still looking straight into blue ones. He takes a breath before continuing. “This here is loyalty Kraglin. This here is trust. This…” He chews his lips and thinks on the wisdom of saying what he’s about to say. There ain’t no taking it back if he does, but he gets the feeling Kraglin needs to hear it. Just once, and to be denied if it’s ever brought up again. “This here would make you first mate if you wanted it. Damn what the others say about favoritism. I can trust you, and that is a rare fucking thing. Ain’t no one ever done for me what you done. Stakar came close, but...” 

Kraglin takes a breath like he’s about to start talking again, arguing against everything that was just said. Anytime Stakar is mentioned Kraglin goes on the defensive, protecting his captain’s honor even if he has to protect it from Yondu himself. Exasperated, Yondu smacks the bottom of his chin hard enough to rattle his shiny shark teeth together.

“Shut your suck hole for 5 standard seconds and just think on what I said. An’ quit picking on Peter. Next time I catch you messin’ with him, arm or no arm, you gonna find your supply of nookie gettin’ real limited. You hearin’ me?” Yondu purses his lips in a mock kissy face and waggles his eyebrows at Kraglin, who slumps defeated against one of the struts at his back.

Kraglin nods, “Yes Sir.”

“Good. Glad we reached that understanding. Now finish this up, I’ll see you for, uh...a strategy meeting later. After your bridge shift.” 

Peter rolls his eyes at the pair of them, honestly the worst kept secret on the Eclector, before deciding to scoot away. He gets the feeling that him eavesdropping would only upset Kraglin again, and where he’s pretty sure Yondu wouldn’t eat him, he’s not so sure about Xandarians. In the mess hall, which will still be dirty and unscrubbed, during the morning cycle, he’ll plop his tray across from Kraglin and give a halfhearted apology. Kraglin will nod, chew his cheek, and spit in his food before inviting him for a shooting lesson. It's the first step of several that will eventually lead to a ravager kind of civility. 

The next time Peter see’s Kraglin’s arm, 24 years have passed and he’s cutting the bloody jumpsuit off the first mate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So wow thank's for all the wodnerful reviews and comments!! I was really unprepared for that. also...  
> ...i lied when i said this was going to only be 2 chapter's long, i mean that was the original plan but there were so many little interactions I wanted to get in that well...we are now up to atleast 3. maaaaaybe 4. I jsut dont want them to be these horrendous long chapter. Also I'm real nervous about this next part,fpr several reasons, one of which is because I LOVED Michael Rooker's performance at the end of the movie, I don't honestly think it needs to be fixed, but for the sake of this fic, I needed Yondu. That maybe might put some people off. but I'm hoping you'll ride this ride with me :). I would also like to say I am not a doctor nor am I a scientist; I'm barely a writer, so sorry for the psuedoscience mumbo-jumbo of this installment. So this part jumps the timeline to the end of the second movie, which is honestly how this fic started. All it's fault

It was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab job. In and out, with very little mess and a big payoff. It had been Nebula’s idea. After weeks of no word following the Ego incident she’d shown up out of the blue, pun completely intended, with plans to _appropriate_ a weapons horde, abandoned after Ronan’s spectacular defeat. Just a cache of weapons floating out in space waiting to be picked off. Perfect for her vendetta against Thanos. And best of all she’d come with units to pay for the job. 

Now, rushing through the Quadrant, lugging a bleeding Xandarian on his shoulders Peter thinks he maybe could have done a little more research. He enters the poor excuse for a med station and tosses Kraglin down on the one cot they’ve got. “Shit shit shit. Hold on let me just get-”

“What the hell happened! ” Rocket is ready on standby and he starts slapping biometric readers on bits of the ravager’s exposed flesh as soon as he’s on the slab. Peter grabs the knife out of the holster on Kraglin’s shoulder and starts cutting through what’s left of the ravager jumpsuit. He can smell the blood but he can’t tell how much of it there is, not when it’s blending into red leather. Kraglin has his hands cupped against his left side, trying to staunch the bleeding, impeding Peter’s progress. Rocket gets the medical instruments powered on and the room is filled with the fast panicked beeping of a machine reading, _alive alive alive_. “Quill his vitals look like sh-”

“Shut up, man! Kraglin I need you to take your hands away.”

“I take my hands away and my guts is gonna spill all over the floor!” Kraglin’s voice is a high pitched warble. His eyes are wide and glassy.

“I need to see the problem. Take your hands away!”

“Blood pressure is dropping!” Rocket grabs Kraglin’s face in two tiny paws. “Move your fricken hands or you’re gonna die! You hear me?!”

Kraglin swallows, nods, moves his hands and the knife glides through the leather like butter from his shoulder to his hip. The smell of ruptured stomach hits Peter’s nostrils the same time he yanks the leather back. The hole is big, possibly the biggest Peters ever seen on someone not dead. Some edges are cauterized but the spilled acid from Kraglin’s stomach is eating holes in the exposed soft tissue. The blood isn’t spurting so much as just oozing. Kraglin’s eyes find Peter’s over the mess of his own torso, full of defeat. They look the way they had when the crew had dragged Yondu’s body on board half dead. Hopeless. Peter can hear Yondu, Gamora and Nebula running down the ramp behind him, maybe a minute away. As Kraglin reclines back on the propped up cot, hand’s dropped to his sides, Peter knows they aren’t going to make it in time.

“Petey. You tell the Cap’n…” Kraglin swallows, his eyelids flutter and Peter knows he’s fighting to stay conscious. “You tell….You tell him…”

“Dude shut up, ok just… don’t talk.” Peter presses a hand against the gore in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding and Kraglin gasps in pain, not enough energy left in his body to shout. 

“What happened?” Nebula is the first to arrive just as Kraglin’s eyes roll back and he passes out, Gamora on her heels. Peter takes his hand away and another gush of blood pours down onto the floor. 

Yondu lumber’s up last, huffing for air from the breathing apparatus strapped over his mouth. It’s a mask connected to a tube connected to a machine on a strap that he’s been wearing like a purse, carried everywhere until his lungs heal. He hates it, but it’s this or lying in bed. He takes a deep breath before pulling the face mask off. He’s about to repeat the question on everyone’s mind when he notices the hole in his first mate’s belly and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a soft, disbelieving, “Kraglin…?” 

Kraglin flat lines.

“Move.” Nebula grabs Peter by his blood covered jacket and strong arms him out of the way. She’s at Kraglin’s side in moment, pulling open a port on his red, and admittedly nicer than the last time Peter saw it, cybernetic arm before doing the same to herself. A length of cord is yanked unceremoniously out of her forearm and plugged into a port on his upper shoulder, connecting the pair of them. Her other arm reaches for one of the glass displays above the cot showing Kraglin’s vitals. She begins to quickly and efficiently draw a schematic.

“Rodent, I need a cranial module with input and output ports and a deployable cerebral web. It should look like this.”

“What?! I don’t just have one of those lying around, I mean if I had-”

“If you don’t make one he is going to stay dead.” 

“Gaah!” Rocket looks at the schematic briefly before he scurries off to a corner of the room to root through some of the scrap that had been collected in a pile. Ravagers aren’t known for their cleanliness and organization. Yondu chooses that moment to find his voice again. He sucks down more air out of his mask before starting in on the less favored of Thanos’s daughters.

“Now just wait a flarkin’ second before you go a jabbing things in my man’s head there!” Nebula rolls her eyes at him, picks up Kraglin’s discarded knife and uses it to shave the hair off a portion of his head. Once the space is hairless, she lays the sharp end of the blade against it and presses until it sinks in and the skull cracks. The crunch is loud despite the blaring tone of Kraglin’s stopped heart “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you! Don’t you go carving up my-”

“I can save him if you let me.” Before Yondu can formulate a retort, Rocket turns back toward the group, small apparatus held in his paws.

“Hey! Like this?” His small thumbs press down on a pair of small buttons on the top of the module and the web extends like a mechanical sea anemone before being sucked back in. 

“It’ll do.” Just then Nebula tweaks a set of wires in her forearm and an electrical surge lances through her body and into Kraglin’s. It’s enough to momentarily start his heart. “Give it to me.”

Rocket hands it over with haste and Nebula places it against Kraglin’s skull before pushing it into place with another crunch. She presses the small buttons on it to extend the web across his brain and a green light on the top blinks on to show it’s working. She pulls her wire out of Kraglin’s arm and plugs it into one of the ports, before pulling a clear tube from alongside it to do the same. Blue synthetic blood begins to flow into the cranial module. “Someone asses and seal any holes you see internally. Like this I can keep his brain oxygenated and his heart pumping blood to his other extremities. But it will do no good, if I’m just pumping it onto the floor.” 

Gamora is across the room looking for a cauterizing tool before her sister finishes. She returns with the implement and goes about cleaning and sealing the wounds with an efficiency only an assassin would have. No body breathes in the tense seconds that follow.

Kraglin’s pulse stabilizes.

“There. He shouldn’t bleed anymore, but I had to disconnect a few vital pieces. He will not survive on his own unless we can get him new ones.”

Peter inhales a shaky breath and looks away from Kraglin for the first time since bringing him in. A blue fist closes around his lapel before he’s being slammed into a wall. Yondu’s eyes are murderous and the clear mask is fogging with every angry exhale. His fin is a strobe of color that tells Peter that if he could whistle, he would.

“What. The hell. Happened?” Yondu demands, through bared teeth. 

“It wasn’t an empty cache! It was full of starving Sakaaran soldiers. As soon as we got in they were on us! They must have been, I don’t know, guards, just left out there to rot after Ronan bit the shit stick!”

“You didn’t think to scan for life or heat signatures before you-”

“Of course we did! I’m not stupid!”

“Well I’ve got a half dead first mate here what says otherwise!” Peter hates when they get like this, growling, fists in each other’s shirts. If he’s honest, it’s one of the reason’s he’d left the Eclector when he did. Even after all the things that were said and done on Ego, Yondu is still Yondu; a mean, quick tempered, sonofabitch, who can still manage to make Peter feel like everything he does isn’t good enough. But Peter knows this wasn’t his fault, it can’t be. Nebula chimes in from the cot where she’s maneuvered her lithe, blue body in behind Kraglin’s so she can prop him more comfortably against her. 

“Hibernating Saakaran’s would give off almost no life signs. In the absence of food they would have shut down to conserve energy.” 

Rocket shakes his head, “Lot of good that does Kraggle Rock here. We don’t get some shiny new widgets in him quick everything else is gonna shrivel up anyway. Any suggestions?” 

Yondu huffs and lets go of Peter’s shirt, sucking another gasp of filtered air into his achy lungs before turning to Nebula. “How did you know you could plug into his ports like that? That arm there is a designer piece. And a pretty well-kept secret.” 

“It was designed by Araneae. Her work is obvious.” Nebula tilts her head and taps her own silver wrist. “My father was a fan. I’m only curious what it cost you.” Her black eyes are fathomless and unreadable, her face as blank as always. It’s unsettling the way she’s wrapped herself around the limp, unconscious Xandarian like a spider. Yondu looks away. “I can get you a list. I’m sure the r-”

“Don’t call me Rodent!”

“Rocket, could install everything. It seems adept.”

“He! I’m a he, you blue freak.”

“Enough.” Gamora interrupts before her sister and her crewmate can really begin to squabble. She has a pretty good feeling that upsetting Nebula will be bad for Kraglin’s health. And based on the look on Yondu’s face, bad for Kraglin’s health is bad for everyone’s health. “Nebula, do you know where this Araneae is?”

“Last I knew, she was on Sakaar, in a shanty town.” 

“I’ll find her.” Rocket volunteers. “There’s no one I can’t find. You sure she’s as good as you say?” 

“She is.” Yondu says before pushing past Peter to leave without another word. Peter decides to give him his space. He’ll find him later, once the old man has calmed down a bit. He figures he needs a shower himself anyway, he reeks like a toxic combination of Necroblaster residue and Xandarian blood. With a last glance at Kraglin’s unconscious body, wrapped up in Nebula’s azure arms Peter heads for his own quarters. 

Later turns out to be the upcoming night cycle, after a shower and the customary communal meal, where more than half the crew is missing, Peter finds Yondu on the bridge glowering into the abyss. There is no customary “Captain’s Chair” on the Quadrant’s bridge, so he’s set himself up in the farthest forward right chair, feet propped up on the displays. Peter hasn’t had nearly enough time to think about what he wants to say but after everything he can’t let this divide between them sit. 

“Quill, I’m tellin’ you now boy. Go. Away.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurts out and scrunches his face up because that was NOT how he wanted to start this. “You know, for Kraglin and all that.”

Yondu huffs a laugh inside the plastic mask and sucks a deep breath before pulling it off. He stands, adjusts his leathers, cracks his neck and faces Peter with a scowl. It’s the face he puts on when he’s getting ready to lecture. Peter is very familiar with it. 

“You know, I got precious few things left in this galaxy since the mutiny. They are limited to this ship, you and that damn scrawny fool layin dead on that cot in there.”

“He’s not dead-”

“Right now he is! Only his brain don’t right know it yet.” Yondu pulls the mask to his face again to take another breath. The apparatus is a pain, but the sweet flavor of sterile air almost makes up for it right now. “Now I been debatin’ askin’ this question, ‘cause if the answer is yes, well I don’t know that I want to know it. But seein’ as you ain’t got no sense to leave folks alone when they tell you to, I figure I’m owed that answer.”

“Ask away! You wanna know how they got the jump on us? I’ll tell you.”

“That ain’t my question.”

“Then what?”

“Did you do this on purpose?”

Peter knows Yondu punches like a bull, whole body thrown into the motion. He’s watched him in bar brawls and sparring matches on board the Eclector. He’s watched him level people with a single swing, just to prove the arrow isn’t the only thing he’s got. But even if Yondu had walked up and gut punched him right this second, he doesn’t think anything else could have hit him harder than what just came out of his former captain’s mouth.

“What?”

“Did you put Kraglin in the line of fire on purpose? I know y’all ain't never cared for each other, not like crew. Certainly not like...” Yondu coughs and chokes on the next word, “...family. I did my best to stay between the two of you while you was on my ship, but Quill so help YOU if you did this to him on-”

“Stop!” Peter runs a hand through his still damp hair and scratches at the stubble on his chin. It feels like his mouth is stuck open and his eyes are bulged out like a pink electrocuted fish. He tries to shake the shock off but it won’t go. “Wow. I mean god damn! Yondu, you don’t really think I’d-”

“I don’t know what to think! I do KNOW Kraglin is a good ravager, a scrapper, a vicious, and EXPERIENCED pirate! So from where I’m standing I can’t figure how a few Sakaaran’s got the drop on you two together, lessen you-”

“It wasn’t just a few Sakaaran’s! The cache was full of them, they crawled out of the walls! We weren’t even halfway through when they started shooting and we just had to run for it! We took cover while we were running but they got off a lucky shot! I had to carry the bony bastard out of there! I thought we were both gonna die!” Peter pauses to calm down. If he starts yelling it’ll all just spiral out of control. “Jeez man. I know what he means to you. Just cause we never, I don’t know, bonded, doesn’t mean I’d try to get him killed.”

Yondu seems to turn Peter’s answer over in his head before nodding, taking another gulp of air from the mask and turning back towards the void of space. The silence feels stuffy and humid in the fizzling atmosphere of their argument. Yondu glances back at his boy and fiddles with a little blue crystal frog he’d had concealed in his hand. It’s not a trinket Peter recognizes, which means it was acquired after he left. He’d bet units on Kraglin having _acquired_ it for his captain. 

“It’s just me and him now. Ya know? Last of the Clan Udonta.” Peter reaches out and puts a hand on the stiff shoulder of the best version of a father he has. Yondu lets out a deep sigh, “Kraglin hates cybernetics.”

“Dad.” 

“Oh come on, don’t do that. ‘S Awkward.” 

“You said it not me, I was perfectly happy to let that go unsaid for the rest of our lives.”

“Well I was tryin’ to die for ya. Ungrateful shit.”

“And leave me to take care of Kraglin alone? I think we both see how well that woulda worked out.” Peter smiles and gives Yondu’s shoulder a friendly shake. If Yondu was anything other than the most emotionally constipated individual in this quadrant Peter might try to hug him. As it stands however, Yondu is the most emotionally constipated individual in the quadrant, and where he hasn’t been able to get enough air to whistle yet, Peter’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to test him. Especially since they’re interrupted a moment later.

“Well, as touching as it is watching you two idiots make up, I do have other things to do this night cycle. Like sleep.” Peter swears he’s going to get Rocket a bell or something. His tiny little paws make almost no noise and it’s made it too easy for him to sneak up on everyone. He’s caught most of the crew in some kind of awkward emotional display more than once. “Unless you want Drax to pilot the ship tomorrow? I’m sure him and Mantis would be great-”

“What do you want Rat?” Anyone else might get shot for it, but whatever happened while Yondu and Rocket were held hostage together, the weird brand of hostile name calling seems to be their own kind of affection. Yondu always makes sure Rocket can hear the capital letter on any of the nicknames he uses. 

“I found Araneae. She’s not on Sakaar anymore.” He hands the datapad to Yondu before continuing. “She’s on Knowhere, apparently enjoying life employed by the Collector.” 

“Greeny’s crazy sister come up with a list of what we need?” Peter glances over Yondu’s shoulder as he quickly scrolls through infonet shots of what could either be Araneae or a giant white spider. Most of them are blurry, but the multiple limbs stand out to him. Reminds him of pictures of the Loch Ness monster. 

“Yea it’s on there, Blue. Some pricey gear.” 

“I’ll set the coordinates then, no use sittin around waitin’. Y’all catch some rack, Cap’n’s got the ship. When we get there, Quill, you and me are gonna go down and get ol’ Kraggle-face some new innards.” Quill nods, thanks Rocket and heads to do as he’s told. For once.

***

Meanwhile, still occupied in the med station, Gamora keeps a cautious eye on her sister. The pair of them have worked Kraglin the rest of the way out of the leftovers of his jumpsuit and into a loose pair of pants. She suspects it will actually upset the poor man when he sees what remains of one of the only two sets of leathers colored for Clan Udonta left in existence. There are no ravager tailors on this ship to fix them. Not that Gamora would let them go anywhere but the incinerator. The amalgamation of body fluids coating the inside of them is enough to cause even her sister to wrinkle her nose. It was a subtle expression, but so are most of Nebula’s. 

“If you keep staring at me, I just might forget we’re trying to play nice and take out one of your eyes.” Nebula is sitting with her arms wrapped around the Xandarian’s head and neck, legs propping up his torso. Her fingers are idly stroking his hair. It’s as soothing in appearance as it is menacing, and the dichotomy is enough to get Gamora to voice the question she’s wanted to ask since Nebula stuffed her cable Kraglin’s arm

“Why would you care what happens to him?” Nebula glares at her sister over the top Kraglin’s head.

“You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Because my enhancements aren’t as visual?” Nebula scoffs, or laughs, Gamora isn’t quite certain. It could be either. 

“No.”

“Nebula I want to understand.”

“When you walk through a crowded street how do people look at you?” Gamora squints her eyes and tries to find the riddle hidden in the question.

“If they know me they move, if they don’t-”

“Everyone knows me. Whether they know my name or not they know me as a predator and a hunter and a killer. They know that on sight alone and they move because they are afraid.” 

“Because you are a daughter of Thanos.”

“Because I am the weapon our father made me. You can hide, I can’t.” Gamora thinks about how easy it had been to lull Peter into a false sense of security on their first meeting. How all it had taken was a casual glance and some fluttered eyelashes. It’s not a deception Nebula would ever manage to perpetrate.

“What does any of that have to do with Kraglin?” 

“He looked at me that way, the same way everyone does. But it didn’t stop him from speaking to me, from treating me like any other woman in the galaxy. He suggested I might like…”

“Might like what?”

Nebula sighs, “It’s stupid.”

“Then we can laugh at his stupidity together.” Gamora leans against the cot and tries to catch her sister’s eye again. There is something fragile here, like all of Nebula’s secrets and if she isn’t careful or genuine, Gamora knows the wall will shoot right back up between them. Nebula’s lips quirk, and for those who knew her she might as well be laughing out loud.

“He suggested I might spend my share of Udonta’s bounty on a pretty necklace, or a nice hat. As though I might have a use for something like that.” It's a beat before Gamora can think of a way to respond.

“You’re right,” She says, and she can’t stop the laugh that is beginning to take her over at the mental image of Kraglin brazenly suggesting such a thing to her brutal sister, “it is stupid.” Nebula’s face cracks into a smile, an expression Gamora can tell isn’t one she is used to.

“Yes. But it was also….nice.” The sister’s sit in silence for some time after that. It’s surprisingly comfortable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who continues to comment, this has been so good for my self esteem. Every chapter has me more and more anxious no one will like it. This chapter's got me feeling like JK Rowling. it just went on and on. so whoops sorry. I usually like to keep chapters half this size. So this time we learn a little more about Kraglin's backstory, the Collector and an original character (i know shoot me) make a brief appearance and Yondu and Peter do some bonding that may leave one of them emotionally scarred.

They put into Knowhere a full cycle later. Peter already has all his gear when Yondu tromps into the Quadrant’s cargo bay, looking more tired than he has in years. Which is saying something because if Peter’s honest, he looked like shit during most of his recovery from space exposure. He zips up his short red jacket and checks over his quad blasters, before spinning them and hooking them on his belt. He double checks his helmet one more time, it’s new and the fit isn’t as good as his old one, but Rocket had managed to find one with red eyes, and well that had been the most important thing. 

“Ready to go old man?”

“Yea, yea keep your shirt on, boy. You wasn’t the one who was up the whole night shift.” Yondu rubs a hand over his eyes and checks his pockets for the pair of space suits and aero rigs. Always two each. Always. The crystal frog is tucked safely in a breast pocket for good luck. The yaka arrow is back in it’s holster, even if it isn’t as perfect as it used to be. With its attendance something else seems to have been left behind. 

“Where’s your breather?” He’s not _worried_ , certainly not, but he can’t afford Yondu passing out because he can’t get enough air. He’s carried enough people over the last two days, thank you very much.

“So, you see the price on some of that gear Nebular says we need?” Yondu straps a knife into one boot and checks over the one in the bracer in his arm. Peter notices Gamora’s sword strapped to the hip opposite the arrow, and chooses not to ask.

“Yea I did, but hey just a little thing really. Minor detail we should maybe iron out. Where is your breather?”

“I think we should pay the Collector a visit right quick, we’re gonna need a few more units to get everything.” Peter rolls his eyes at being ignored for the second time. “I got a deal to collect on.” 

“Yondu! Where is-” 

“Time to go.” 

The docks of Knowhere are as crowded with people as they always are; mercenaries, miners, lost or forgotten children and drunken vagrants being only the finest of the human refuse. Peter elbows his way through the masses, making sure to keep a tight grip on his guns and his Zune. Even though he misses his Walkman, the compact size of the musical gizmo is much appreciated. He’s walking at a pace a bit slower than he’s used to, trying to make sure he stays close to Yondu, who is huffing along but pretending he’s just fine. Well, he figures, if Yondu’s going to pretend so is he.

“Hey, you said something yesterday, I wanted to ask about.”

“I said a lot of things Pete. Which one in particular has got you curious?”

“Why does Kraglin hate cybernetics?” Yondu huffs a pathetic excuse for a laugh. 

“To understand that you’d have to understand where Kraglin grew up. You been to Xandar, seen its big buildings and all that finery.” Yondu leans against a wall and bends to suck a bit of air before standing back up. His back makes an audible crack when he does and he glares down at his boots “What you ain’t seen is the underbelly. The places the poor get lost and boys like ol’ Kraggles are worth more in separate pieces than all together.” 

Peter gulps and glances at a group of urchins sitting with their backs against a tavern wall. They’re dirty and scrawny, palms out hoping for a bit of mercy. He tries to imagine what a younger Kraglin might have looked like. As much as being a ravager had been terrifying, he’s grateful Yondu didn’t just drop him on any old planet to fend for himself.

“So what? People just cut the limbs off kids on Xandar? I’ve never heard of that.”

“Some people’ll pay top dollar for _organic_ organs instead of having a synthetic put in. Makes ‘em feel more authentic I guess. And then you got the weirdos. Way Kraglin tells it, there was a fella round his ‘hood they called The Surgeon.” 

They round a corner and the next street is lined with food stalls. It’s the one quarter on Knowhere that actually smells good despite the questionable fair. Peter spies a few more kids, these ones occupied with liberating what looks like a pole of giant fried louse. A Krylorian girl manages to snatch one of the bugs with her teeth and crunch down on it spilling yellow slop down her cheeks. Peter wrinkles his nose, Yondu continues on undisturbed.

“Every once in a while a kid would disappear for a bit, and when they showed back up, they’d be missing something, or some weird tech woulda been added. Turned out he was using them kids as a hive mind experiment, seeing what he could control from a hub. Guess it ended badly, melted a few of their brains. But clever lil’ Kraglin, he made it all the way through to adulthood without having anything replaced. Whole experience left him a bit skittish of all that.”

“So what about the arm?” Yondu sighs and stops walking, turning back to what amounts to his prodigal son. If Peter had thought his face looked drawn and haunted earlier, in the yellow wash light of Knowhere Yondu looks even worse.

“Look, that one, that’s only half my story. And as I got the better end of it, I ain’t gonna tell it. I don’t like to tell it. That one, that’s all Kraglin’s. You hear me?” Peter frowns. He has a hard time imagining Kraglin having a problem with Yondu telling the story about the arm, if the one about _melted children_ is fair game.

“They ever catch the Surgeon?”

“Didn’t have to. Ol’ Kraglin bludgeoned him to death with a bit of circuitry and a prosthetic leg. Turned out one of the melted kids was his sister.” Peter decides it’ll be best for both of them if they spend the rest of the walk to their destination in silence.

The Collector’s museum is still in pieces, but the roof is repaired and a multitude of robots and caretakers of various species are hard at work trying to fix the rest. Several species have been reacquired and installed in the main hall, but it’s still vastly empty. Tivan sits at a desk overlooking his worker bees, Cosmo at his hand, patiently waiting. He scratches the fuzzy animal’s caramel ear, and when Cosmo starts to growl, gives the command to heel and stands to greet his guests.

“Yondu Udonta. It has been some time.” He doesn’t bow, like he might to a true ravager captain, like he would if Stakar Ogord had been the one walking through his door unannounced. The lack of courtesy isn’t lost on Yondu, who affects a posture of indifference. Peter has learned, over many trial and errors, when the captain has come down to haggle personally, it’s best to be silent. 

“Cut the small talk Tivan, I’m here on business.” The coat is pulled back to reveal the yaka arrow, but it’s done to appear coincidental. Tivan arches a fuzzy white brow.

“And what business would that be?” 

“Two things.” Yondu holds up two fingers before beginning to pace. Some kind of sentient sludge is on display to his left and he taps the glass and smiles as it lights up with a bioluminescence. “One, I’m looking for an associate of yours, little lady with an affinity for tech, goes by Araneae.” The Collector laughs, and smiles at the pair in front of him.

“Your _boy_ needs a new arm already? You ravagers, such an indelicate group.” Yondu scowls at Tivan’s smile. “I will have one of my caretakers lead you to Araneae, of course. Units you give her, are units I don’t have to. But you said there were two orders of business.”

“Right.” Yondu wobbles a bit on his feet and takes a deep shuddery breath. Without the breathing apparatus, the air feels like splinters in his lungs. The only upside is his lungs feel so full of cotton it’s at least not unbearable. Peter reaches out a hand.

“Woah hey, are you-”

“Can it. The second order of business goes back a ways for you and me. I’m here to ask after that offer you made me. Unless you’ve found yourself another Centaurian.” 

“Even if I had, you can see what remains of my collection.” The collector spreads his arms as though to call attention to the shambles of a museum he has left. Peter ducks his head a bit and glances around the room. He isn’t at fault for the mess, not really, but he would bet that the Collector blames him a bit. “But the last time we spoke, you were quite offended by my offer.” Yondu snorts.

“Can’t a guy change his mind?” He shrugs and tries to look innocent. It’s an utter failure. “The offer still on the table or no?”

“It is.”

“Great!” Yondu claps his hands together and glances about the room. “So where’s the contract?”

The Collector smirks and reaches into his desk. Peter’s a little astounded when he pulls out a real piece of paper and an ink pen and holds them both out for Yondu. The only other paper he can recall seeing in space were “the Ravager Annals” that Tulk had been in possession of; stories recorded by their contemporaries to cut back on embellishment. Recorded in great big tomes, special and rare since only a handful of ravagers could actually read and write common Xandarian. He feels a little twinge knowing they must have been destroyed when the Eclector went up in flames. Every story of the clan, gone. 

Yondu takes the contract and glances over it a few times before looking over the top back to the Collector. His lips are puckered in an unamused expression of boredom. “You know, Tivan, this number here. It looks a little light.”

“What?”

“I mean, don’t think I’m trying to tell you your business now, but I’m certain you offered me more for my corpse last time we talked about it.”

“Wait. THAT’S why we’re here?”

“This has always been the number.” Tivan reassures with a bluntness bordering on hostility. 

“Yea, but you see I need to get maybe, oh I don’t know, let’s say another ten-thousand units for my meat sack before I’ll feel really compensated for turning it over to you.” Tivan scoffs and gestures at the red fin atop his guests head.

“Perhaps if you were an _intact_ Centaurian I could give you that price. But not for an imperfect specimen.”

“Yea but here’s the other thing, I ain’t just any old Centaurian. I am. A piece. Of. History. I mean come on, I’m me! Yondu Udonta, endangered species and a Ravager Captain! That’s gotta be worth at least-”

“You have an inflated opinion of yourself, Udonta. Two thousand more units.”

“Eight.”

“Three.”

“Five.” 

“On one condition.” 

Yondu smiles the crocodile grin of someone who just bluffed his way through a bad hand and won. “Name it.” 

A moment later a clear glass cup is deposited on Tivan’s desk with little fanfare and left to sit. Yondu squints at it.

“I will give you five thousand extra units, if you will leave me with a sample, now.”

Yondu never had much in the way of eyebrows, but what he does have shoots up to his fin about the same time Peter turns bright red. That is before he throws his head back to laugh, only to start coughing and gasping for air. Peter pats him on the back before he’s swatted off. The smile on Yondu’s face is so wide, Peter worries he might actually rip something. 

“You got a deal, Tivan. Now show me to the dirty vids so we can get this over with.”

Outside the collector’s museum, Peter leans against a wall and waits for his former captain, surrogate father and all around mega pain in the ass, and tries desperately hard not to think about why he’s waiting. A Krylorian girl by the name of Burii stands to the side with him, but she might as well be a Lovebot on standby for all the interaction Peter’s gotten out of her. Yondu is laughing when he finally exits the building, a bit more bounce in his step. He rummages in his jacket and retrieves the small portable inhaler Rocket had put together for him before they left the Quadrant, and smiles at Quill.

“Well I’d say that was the sweetest bunch of units I’ve ever made!” 

“You had a breather with you this whole time?”

“A course, had to make Tivan think he was getting a good deal. You don’t bargain for a dead man if you think he might live forever.” He sucks another burst of air before continuing, stowing the apparatus in a pocket out of sight. It’s too small to filter the outside air, but the tiny tanks of pure O2 on either side of the mouthpiece should be more than enough for the trip. “Besides we needed some more units! As it was standing we’d never afford what was on little sister’s list.” 

“So you sold yourself to the Collector?!”

“I just got that joker to pay us five thousand extra units for me to jerk off into a cup. Easiest mullah I’ve ever made!”

“Ahem. Gentlemen if you would follow me, Araneae is not far.” That said Burii begins to walk away, hands folded in front of her and head to the side. Yondu punches Peter lightly in the shoulder before trailing after her.

“Besides, it ain’t like he’ll be able to retrieve my body before you and Krags light me up like a firework!” Peter rolls his eyes.

They board a transport ship, similar in shape to the mining pods, but larger. The ride isn’t long. Araneae seems to reside in the upper crust of an ear canal. Last time Peter’d been to Knowhere, Gamora had told him it was the remains of a Celestial. Knowing his lineage now, the whole place makes him feel crawly. When the transport docks and the airlock opens into a long dark tunnel Peter sighs, dismayed. Small blue sparks and static arcs seem to be jumping along the top, through a gross conglomeration of thick cables and wires and there is no obvious end to the thing.

“We have arrived. There is a curtain at the end of the tunnel. I will wait for your return.”

“In there? You sure it’s not gonna just dump us out into space?” 

“Nah, this looks like her gig.” Yondu pushes him out of the transport a little rougher than might be necessary, before taking another hit off the inhaler. Peter taps his ear and the helmet extends across his face. 

“Why can’t these kinds of people ever work on a sunny beach, surrounded by gorgeous women and little umbrella drinks?” Yondu chuckles at him before starting up a soft whistle. His fin blooms in color, and for all its likely not good for Yondu’s lungs, Peter’s glad to hear the sound. There had been some question on whether the old man would ever whistle again. They follow the cables for a bit, illuminated only by the blue static and Yondu’s fin. When they reach the end of the tunnel Yondu turns, sucks the inhaler and puts a hand on Peter’s chest. 

“Now I know this has all been fun and-”

“Nothing about this has been fun for me.”

“Boy just listen, whatever you do, do not let her in your head.”

“What why?” _How!_

“Just trust me, would ya? Let me do the talking, try to stay uninteresting.” Warning given Yondu pulls back the curtain and Peter feels his eyes assaulted by bright light despite the helmet. He hits his ear again and waits for his eyes to adjust when the helmet disolves. 

Most of the room is dark, lit only by the massive, bright green, spinning dynamo at the center. There are several visable magnet currents spiraling in fractals from the top of the dynamo up to a ceiling that seems to go on forever. Worker drone-bots deposit different mechanical components into the streams to be carried to various robotic arms that snatch them from the air. Other robotic arms stick out of the walls like crooked limbs, topped with data displays in every glassy shape and color. Black rubber cables run along the entire expanse, from the floors to the ceilings hanging like great rubber cobwebs.. It’s more a temple than a residence Peter decides. And at the center he can only assume is the high priestess herself, at work at some kind of nefarious altar.

She’s seven or eight feet tall at least, taller than Groot had been. With two sets of arms sharing a shoulder blade, skin the color of a fish belly and five fingers on each hand, three digits and two thumbs, Araneae is certainly captivating, in a monstrous sort of way. When she turns towards them, and Peter gets a look at her face, Eyes covered by a leather wrapped head dress with long black spines trailing down her back, nose flat and slitted and smiling with black teeth, he has to curb the urge to shoot her. Her nostrils flare as she breathes deep but her voice is startlingly melodic when she speaks. Peter decides her teeth look like the beak of a giant squid.

“Well well well, now this is a surprise. To what do I owe the immense pleasure of your company Captain Udonta….and Starlord?” Well ok, maybe Peter judged her too early. 

“Hey there Ari. Been a long time.”

Araneae turns and reclines across the flat surface of her work table at the center of her home, just beneath the dynamo. She adjusts the folds of her long black apron and the collar of the rubber breast wrap, primping, before folding one set of hands demurely in her lap. The other upper set continue working on data displays behind her. “It has hasn’t it. I had hoped you would visit again, we had such a good time together the last time. I love what you’ve done with your fin. ”

“Ah well you know, ravaging is a busy business. I see you’ve been a busy girl yourself.”

“Heh, the Collector keeps me fat and happy, pays me for my trinkets and lets me to my own work.” She pats her flat white belly and grins at the ravager, beak like teeth showing. “But I don’t think you come for small talk.”

“You’d be right. I need some gear, for Kraglin.” 

“Not another arm!” Araneae shrieks, every hand twisted in shock.. 

“Nah nah, arm is fine, fool has managed to blow a hole in himself. Need some organ replacements. And a few other things.”

“I see.” Araneae pauses for a moment, tapping one dexterous finger against her mouth. She has no eyes that Peter can see but somehow he feels her looking at him. “Transfer me the list. And then we can begin to bargain.”

Yondu nods, and shuts his eyes, hands folded in front of himself. There’s an audible crackling of static in the air as Araneae reaches out a hand towards him. On her palm are several small pimple like organelles which seem to be emitting a small glow. Yondu’s fin flares for a moment and it dawns on Peter that she’s reading his mind.

“Ari, don’t go joy riding through there now.” 

“And what would I find if I did?” It also dawns on Peter that the spider woman and Yondu are flirting. Yondu whistles sharp and the yaka arrow springs to attention spiraling around him in a showy flourish before stopping to hover near his head, pointed at their host. Araneae smiles at the display. The yaka arrow has always been one of her favorite pieces of technology, Yondu’s yaka an oddity even among oddities. 

“Let’s not ruin a good thing, eh Ari?” She chuckles deep in her chest before standing to her full height and turning away.

“I have what you need, give me a moment.” She slips all four of her hands into two pairs of black rubber gloves. She hits several zones on the data displays surrounding her work table and the drone-bots, vaguely crab like constructions, spring into action scurrying on pointed legs to collect various pieces of tech as commanded. Each piece is brought to Araneae to be turned over in her hands and examined before being deposited in one of two crates. 

“Dude, was she flirting with you?” Peter whispers.

“What can I say, your old man’s a stud.” 

Peter gags. “Tell me you’ve never been there. Please, Yondu. Tell me you’ve never made it with the eight foot spider lady!” 

Yondu leers at him and waggles his tongue. “Well I could lie, I guess.” 

When the last item is brought to her she takes it gingerly, turning it over severals times to feel for potential defects and runs a scanner over it, but does not deposit it in the crate. She turns her head to speak over her shoulder. “All this here is what you’ll need for him to live. Lungs, digestive system, tools to repair bone and nerve. Your technician can decide which of your man’s original parts can be salvaged and what must be replaced. I’ve included a heart as a gift, an organic one could not keep up with most of this tech.”

“Synthskin?”

“No, use the plating. For now anyway. You may need to get inside him at varying intervals for maintenance.” She turns back to her guests, crate held in her lower hands. She sets it at Yondu’s feet before continuing. “Make no mistake my dear Yondu, this will keep him alive, but the quality of that life is still questionable. Now, all of that I can sell to you for roughly one-hundred and twenty thousand units.” Peter feels his eyes bug out. It’s been happening a lot lately.

“A hundred and twenty thousand units!” 

“However there is one thing you have listed I cannot sell you, it must be traded for.” She holds the component she’d snagged earlier out so both men can see it. “This is a spinal shaft with an impulse regulator, it should be fitted on his spine. It is essential for interpreting impulses from the brain. Without it, I’m afraid your Kraglin will not walk.” 

Yondu glares at the last of the components in her hand. 

“So what do you want in trade, Ari? Maybe a little bit of what we had last time?” He waggles his eyebrows at her, and adjusts his cock through his pants, all bravado. It makes Araneae laugh. She runs a glove covered hand down his cheek before shaking her head.

“Does your Kraglin know all you would trade for him?” Yondu jerks his head away from her hand and the congenial smile that has been on his face since they entered Araneae’s domain slips away. “Alas my dear it is not you I seek this time, though make no mistake I greatly enjoyed our last bargain.” 

Peter gulps when she turns her face to him. “You can’t really want me to-”

“Relax boy, it is not your body I seek. My price for the spinal shaft is to share a dream. You see, I’ve never had the pleasure of a Terran before.” She stretches her fingers and displays her palm with a smile and leans close enough to sniff at his hair. “What do you say boy? It will be a good dream.”

“Well you see-”

“He says no.” Yondu chimes in, scowling at both of them. With a whistle the yaka arrow weaves between the pair and Yondu puts himself in the vacated space. “Look don’t think I’m not grateful, but I think its best we just pay for these and go on our way.” Araneae inclines her head and steps back from the pair of them, returning to lounge at her work table. Yondu whistles the arrow back into its holster.

“Of course.” she says. “Forgive me if I have insulted you my dear.” 

Yondu brushes off the apology and activates his comm. “Rocket, send Araneae fifteen thousand units.” 

“And the rest?”

Yondu hefts the crate into his arms, careful not to shake it. “You’ll find the other hundred and five with Tivan, he knows you’re comin’.” 

“Then our business is concluded.”Araneae stands to bow to her guests. Before Peter can shuffle back under the curtain she speaks again. “However, Starlord, should you change your mind I will hold the the impulse regulator for you. And you alone.”

“He won’t Ari.” Yondu responds and drops the curtain behind them. 

The transport is still waiting for them, much to Peter’s relief and Burri programs it to take them back to the Quadrant. 

“You know we could have covered that bill on our own right? Like we didn’t need to go to the Collector.” Peter says once they’re situated in the transport with the crate between them. “I mean, yea it was A LOT of cash for some cybernetic doodads, but dude we had it.”

“These is some top shelf doodads.” Yondu says and pats the top of the crate. His gaze is focused out the porthole instead of at Peter, but he’s not focused on the mining pods whizzing around them, or the crowds of people below. “Besides, didn’t wanna owe you that much money. You’ve already been real good about Kraglin and me, while I been catchin’ my breath as it were...”

Peter scrunches his face in confusion and glances about the interior of the transport. “Owe me that much-”

“I knew what the Collector might pay, and this way we didn’t have to reach too far in your coffers.”

“MY Coffers? Dude, you know you’re part of the Guardians now.”

“Look,” Yondu sighs and turns in his seat to face Peter. “I know why you left the ravagers. I know you were ready to break out on your own, be your own man, and I’m not tryin’ to stand in the way a that. I’m proud a you. But, you’ve got your own crew now, you’re their leader, and you don’t need me hanging about as a challenge to that. It were always the plan once I was back up and running, to move along.”

“Wait you were just gonna LEAVE!” 

The Centaurian rolls his eyes, exasperated with the conversation already. “Oh come on kid, no one wants their daddy hangin’ around while they make goo goo eyes at the green girl.” 

“I do not make goo goo eyes at Gamora!” The pitch of Peter’s voice reminds Yondu of when he’d hit puberty. Every other woman they’d come across had caught Peter’s eye, no matter the species, and the boys had all had a great gift for haranguing him about it. “Man why do you have to be such an a-hole all the time!”

“An a-hole? I’m an a-hole for wantin’ to give you the space you stole a four BILLION unit score from me to get?”

“That’s not- Look, you don’t have to go. The Quadrant is more than big enough for-”

“Quill, the Eclector wasn’t big enough for both of us.” Yondu deadpans.

“The Eclector was also filled with shit for brains ravagers and seein’ as there only one of those now-”

“That ain’t no way to talk about your step-ma now is it?” Yondu delivers the remark with the stone face of an accomplished cheat, which stretches into a smile as he watches Peter. Peter’s face travels through several emotions, not the least of which is bewilderment followed by disgust. His mouth flaps a few times before snapping shut. It derails the conversation completely. Kraglin is many things, but maternal isn’t one of them. As so many old stereotypes about evil stepmothers steal across Peter’s brain, Yondu smiles at him over the box. 

“I’m not even gonna acknowledge you said that.”

“Ya just did.” Yondu’s smile doesn’t wane. This time its Peter’s turn to be exasperated.

“Yondu, I want you to stay on. As a Guardian, with the rest of the crew. I mean you’re family, ya big doofus. I mean what am I supposed to tell Groot if you leave? You’re like his favorite grandpa.”

“What about Kraglin? I know-”

“And Kraglin, not like you two ever go anywhere without each other, you’d think you were married. Besides I think Nebula likes him, and I know Gamora wishes she would come around more.”

“You know you ain’t good enough for her, right boy?” Yondu asks, suddenly serious. Peter shakes his head and looks away. It’s a beat before he continues on. “That’s the key to makin’ it last. Remember that, and I’ll think about your offer.”

Peter has never been happier to see a ship in his life. Well Maybe the Eclector the _last time_ he was on Knowhere. But seeing as the Quadrant was one of the pieces making up the Eclector he figures it still counts. When the cargo doors open, Gamora is standing by to drop the ramp for them. Yondu tromps in first, hefting the crate and winks at her before heading for the med station. Peter follows him in and stops when he sees her face, curiously gazing after Yondu.

“Was that my sword on Yondu’s belt?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Couldn’t be, I mean how would he get ahold of your sword?” Gamora’s eyes narrow in a way that tells Peter she isn’t buying it.

“Were you able to get what was needed?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly? What does-”

“Gamora, I would love to tell you everything, but I just spent the last couple of hours in close proximity to that blue maniac and I’d really really love to not talk, anymore. At all. About anything. So if anyone needs me, I’m in the mess.”

“Where will you actually be?”

“On the bridge, trying to relax and forget everything I heard this entire trip.” With that he turns on the Zune and jams his earbuds into his head. If he doesn’t get a thank you from Kraglin for this, he’s gonna strap a space suit on him and drag him through seven or eight jumps tethered to the back of the Milano. “Hell maybe I’ll forgo the space suit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say I love all of you who have been continuing to read my fic and leave me comments. A bit of a warning there is like 30 seconds of porn here, but it gets ugly real fast, so sorry. Also there are alot of shifting POVs this time around, but I felt they were pretty unavoidable if we wanted the whole story. It's a shorter chapter than the last one, but im hoping its more about the size I like. Hope you enjoy it.

The Quadrant puts back out to space almost as soon as Quill and Yondu are back on board, Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” playing over the intercom system, letting everyone know whose driving. Yondu and Rocket are sitting in the med station glancing over the contents of the crate. It’s got a few lengths of cybernetic intestine, a stomach, a heart, matched pair of lungs and several other widgets all carefully sat in its confines. Groot, who’s getting a little too big to sit on Rockets shoulder these days, is perched on Yondu’s, carefully winding delicate strands of cybernetic nerve tissue like christmas lights around his fin.

“So how long you figure the procedure might take?”

“Ah, who knows? Hour, maybe two?” 

“You’ll start after supper?”

“Sure thing Blue. I don’t wanna leave Krag for brains like he is longer than I have to.”

“I can assist.” Nebula chimes in from the cot. Yondu glances at her before turning back to the box. She’s laying on her side, Kraglin playing the little spoon, with his head against her shoulder. Her silver fingers are tapping against his own cybernetic arm to the soft beat of the guitar. There was something Peter had said earlier about Nebula liking Kraglin, and Yondu wonders if it’s something he should ask him about when he wakes up. If he wakes up. 

“What do you figure the risk might be he don’t wake back up?”

“Heh. I could wake him now if you wanted.”

Yondu spins to face her so fast Groot’s careful balance upsets and he tumbles off Yondu’s shoulder and onto the floor. The wrapped nerve tissue pulls taught on his fin and jerks his head back. “No! No lets-”

“It’ll be fine, man. I have a great success rate at this sort of thing.” Rocket says, reaching out to help Yondu free himself from Groot’s rather pricey cybernetic snare. “Look, go get some sleep, after that, eat something and then go harass Quill. I got this.”

Yondu gives his head one last shake, and the nerve tissue unwinds into a heap on top of the tiny Groot. “Yea I hear ya, get outta yer…fur. You’ll comm me when you’re done?”

“The second he starts to wake up! Now go on Mama Duck, I got this.” Rocket reassures one more time, giving Yondu’s shoulder a gentle push. When the med center is empty of anymore paranoid Centaurians, Rocket let’s out a breath and turns back to the box. Nebula sits up and slides from behind Kraglin, careful not to unplug herself from him. She rolls her hip, until one of her internal couplings is no longer rubbing on one of her sockets. 

“You really have great success with this?”

“Oh yea, zero failures.” Rocket says over his shoulder.

“How many tries?”

“Well that number might also be zero but hey! I never killed a god before and look how well that turned out!” 

Nebula shuts her eyes and sighs, and Rocket is pretty sure he hears her whisper “moron” under her breathe. 

They don’t wait til after supper to get started. Rocket uses a cauterizing lathe to cut the belly and chest cavity wide open before grabbing a holographic projector and using it to project a Xandarian anatomy display over Kraglin’s unconscious body. Nebula monitors his vitals adjusting her output to accommodate the minute changes. 

Seeing holes where there should be working organs reminds him of a half-finished puzzle, where chunks of the picture are missing and the table is showing through. Only more unsettling. The heart continues to pump, prodded by Nebula’s connection to the Xandarian brain, but looking at it, he’s pretty sure it’s toast. The stomach is lacerated and beginning to rot, acid eating it up. One lung is doing all the work of two to keep the fool breathing, supplemented by Nebula breathing and oxygenating extra blood. Surprisingly the liver looks better than he expected. Especially considering it’s a ravager’s liver.

“I am Groot.”

“Yea it is pretty gross, but not all of us can be trees.”

He starts with the big ticket items first, stomach completely replaced along with a lung, before starting on things like the poor guys pancreas. Using one of the tools provided he coaxes the thin nerve tissue back into certain places and grafts new nerves where they're needed. When he cuts the connection to the heart, the monitors blare a flat line until he attaches the new one. It’s a different tool to coax bone to regrow. He screws a few supports onto the new ribs that will help bolster the plating that’s going to be grafted onto the rest of the torso. Slowly over two hours Rocket finishes the puzzle and puts all the new pieces where they go. At last, he melds the plating with what’s left of the skin on Kraglin’s trunk and seals the hole. He lathers some numbing agent on the seam where the natural skin puckers against the metal and looks up at Nebula. 

“Why don’t you plug into the arm, and we can see about fixing up that port on the side of his head.” 

“Something’s not right. The new nerves at the spine, they aren’t firing. I’m getting no return on the signals sent there.”

“I was afraid of that. Grafting them straight onto the original nerve isn’t gonna be enough. The organ’s themselves come with their own programs but these little guys’re too small. We need an impulse regulator.” 

“There wasn’t one in the box?”

“Yondu said the price was too steep. I gotta get back in there and disconnect anything running below the waist, or Quill won’t be the only one dancing around like an idiot.”

“He’s not going to like that.”

“Who’re you tellin.”

It takes another half hour before Rocket is satisfied with everything. The half-assed cranial module has been replaced with a few ports and left over plating. Now It looks more like a silver scar than a cassette sticking out of the side of his head. Nebula checks his vitals one more time before disconnecting herself.

“Well I guess we just sit back and wait for him to wake up.” 

“I will wait. You should feed the twig.” Nebula says and settles herself on the edge of the cot to wait. Rocket doesn't try to argue.

***

In the crew quarters of the ship Yondu lies in his room in his bunk on his side facing the wall and trying not to think about Kraglin laying in the med station. Rocket installed his fin fine, he’s a smart Rat. It'll all work out. And sure he missed an opportunity to ask Krags what he thought about the whole thing, but hey, at least the moron is gonna live. The Rodent will do just fine.

“If he’s so good what’re you worried about?” The voice that ghosts over his ear from behind is familiar and when he rolls over he’s met with his favorite baby blues. Kraglin is laid on his side, cybernetic arm curled under his head and his other hand drawing circles on Yondu’s own bare, scarred shoulder. 

“I’m worried you ain't gonna wake up.” Yondu’s voice is gruff as he speaks, one hand trailing down Kraglin’s side to his hip.

“What’re you talkin’ about, Sir? I’m awake now.”

“Nah ya ain’t. This is a dream.” 

“Well if it’s a dream, why don’t we make it a good one?” Kraglin says with a smirk before diving in for a kiss. He tries to roll Yondu but is stopped by strong blue arms before being rolled onto his own back. “Huh, someone’s feelin’ greedy.”

Yondu pushes his hips down and is thrilled that they’re both naked already, both hard. He doesn’t always top, but right now it seems so important to do it this way. To know he can, that he won’t be rebuffed. That, “You want me like this?” He tongues inside Kraglin’s mouth before he can answer, and slips inside his body with ease and no preparation. Inside, Kraglin is hot and wet and Yondu feels his eyes rollback. “Fuck.”

“Yea that’s right.” Kraglin moans, head pushed back against the bed, one leg lifting up and around his hip. He uses the leverage of that leg to pull Yondu in deeper and hisses when he feels him go into the hilt. “Come on, boss. Fuck me.”

Yondu growls and rocks in deep and Kraglin snarls at him, mechanical hand coming up to grab the back of his captain’s head. “Now who’s greedy?”

“Still you, Cap’n.” Kraglin says, choked as Yondu picks up the pace.

“Can’t help it, darlin’. You feel too good.” On the next thrust Kraglin whines, and Yondu feels his eyes flutter again. The hand at his neck tightens, closer to being uncomfortable than not, it’s followed by another noise but this time Yondu can tell it isn’t a good one. When he looks Kraglin in the face, he can see the cranial module, which hadn’t been there a second ago, sticking out. Only, It doesn’t look like it’s in right and blood is seeping at the edges. Kraglin’s eyes are cataract, and his whole body is sheet white, lips so purple he looks punched. “Kraglin?”

“Oh don’t stop now _Sir_. Don’t I feel good?” Kraglin spits, some of it landing on Yondu’s face. He uses the grip he has on Yondu’s neck to pull him in harder, speeding up the punishing pace. Yondu tries to slow his hips, but he doesn’t have control of his body. “Isn’t this what you wanted? To fuck me! Drill a hole in me? Leave your mark so I’ll always know I belong to you?” 

“No! This, this isn’t- Stop! Krags, stop!” 

Kraglin has him by the throat, snarling in his face in the next moment, mechanical fist huge, and closing like a vice grip. There’s blood in his mouth, painting his teeth when he speaks. “You wanna stop?! What about what I want? What about me you greedy sonofabitch!” His eyes look down between them to where Yondu’s hips are still grinding inside and Yondu follows his gaze and tries not to scream.

Instead of being inside Kraglin the proper way, the way they’d done a thousand times over more years than Yondu can remember, his cock is working steadily inside the wound in his gut. Every time he pushes in, blood squelches out around him. It’s hot, wet and reeks the way Kraglin’s split stomach had. His hips don’t slow even as he gapes in horror, and to make matters worse Yondu can feel his climax fast approaching. When he can pull his eyes back to Kraglin’s face, he’s met with a cruel and ugly smile on dead blue lips.

“Stop! I wanna,” Yondu sits up in bed, dressed in full ravager regalia and alone, “Stop.” He glances around eyes settling on the crystal frog and plastic troll on the shelf above his bunk, before cutting to look at the timepiece on the bedside table next to his arrow, before coming back to look at shaking hands. He presses his palms against his eyes in an attempt to banish the ghost of the snarling Kraglin corpse in his nightmare. The small inhaler is still in his jacket pocket and he hits it twice before standing up. It’s about supper time, which is good, because he gets the feeling he needs to talk to the Rat.

He thinks he has at least his outward appearance under control, back to being scowly Ravager Captain and all around badass, by the time he walk into the mess hall and see’s Drax and Mantis already tucked into their plates. Drax doesn’t slow from stuffing his face as Yondu nabs a bowl of whatever mush is sitting on the burners, but when he turns back to the table Mantis is staring at him. He stuffs a quick fork full of food into his mouth before engaging her. 

“What is it Bug?”

Her eyes are large, sympathetic and unsure when she speaks. “You were having a bad dream. I could sense-”

“I were not havin’ a bad dream. An’ iffin I were, it might be pretty rude to bring it up in mixed company. Don’t ya think?” Yondu smiles over his bowl at her, but it’s anything but friendly and Mantis lets out a small peep before stuffing some kind of vegetable into her mouth. 

“Do not take your frustrations about Kraglin out on Mantis.” Drax says around a mouth full of mush, some kind of stew Gamora has thrown together. It looks like mud and smells even worse, and Yondu hopes Quill plans on taking a cooking lesson in the future, since Gamora’s talents obviously lay elsewhere. “She is only trying to help.”

Yondu growls at him. “I ain’t takin my frustrations out on-”

“I know what it means to lose a mate-”

“Dont start. I am not havin’ THIS conversation with you.” Yondu says, standing up and dumping the bowl into the sink, appetite not surprisingly absent. He watches dinner wash down the drain before turning the internal trash compactor on. 

Rocket and Groot wander into the galley together a moment later. Yondu smiles to see the Twig still trying to wear the tiny little ravager leathers even as they shrink around him. In a few more weeks they won’t fit at all. Rocket sits Groot down first with some kind of green protein paste that’s supposed to be good for his bark before getting himself his own bowl of Gamora surprise. 

“Just the Critter I wanted to see.” Yondu turns back to the group at the table and smiles down at his fuzzy friend. “I got to thinkin’, maybe we should wake Kraglin up before you go monkeying with his internals. See what he has to say on it.” Rocket drops his spoon into the bowl and puts his tiny paws on his muzzle.

“You’re kidding?”

“Naw. I had a think on it and-”

“Yondu…I finished with Kraglin half an hour ago.” 

Yondu feels his stomach drop out. “What?”

Peter Quill is no stranger to on ship violence. Growing up with the Ravagers violence had frequently been the only kind of affection shown between crew mates. A punch to the gut could mean “hello” as much as it could mean “I hate your face, don’t leave your boots in my bunk”. Frankly one of the things he’d really liked about being on the Milano with the Guardians was how, even when they fought and argued, for the most part name calling was as bad as it got. No one whistled, or pulled a gun or a knife. Occasionally someone might throw a gravity regulator, but hey that was only the one time and he’s pretty sure Drax had felt bad after. He’d felt like he could finally let his guard down a bit. Which is why he hadn’t been expecting to walk into the galley and be hit with a face full of tufted angry racoon. 

“You said you wouldn’t touch him ‘til after supper!” Yondu is on the other side of table they’ve all chosen as _The meal table_ , gripping his bowl and spoon like they’re weapons. The arrow isn’t out which is good but the look on Yondu’s face pretty much strangles the life out of any feeling of relief Peter might have had. Drax has Mantis shielded behind him and Groot is under one of the chairs.

“Dude! Calm down! He was there, Nebula was there and dinner was more than a couple hours away, we had the time then!” Rocket says righting himself on Peter’s shoulders and hiding behind his head. The bowl comes flying and luckily Peter ducks so it doesn’t catch him between the eyes. 

“Undo it! You gotta-”

“Yondu I removed his heart. If we take it out now he'll die, and there'll be no putting it back in!”

“You little-” 

The spoon comes flying next and Peter catches it before tossing it over his shoulder and throwing both hands in the air. “Woah woah woah! Hey everyone calm down! Yondu what is the problem?” 

“He’s pissed I did EXACTLY what we agreed to!” Rocket accuses, tiny finger pointing. “I put Kraglin’s new organs in! I saved his life and this is the thanks I get for it.”

“Rocket enough!” Yondu is out the door and down the hall in the next second, stormy expression on his face, teeth gritted together and Peter rolls his eyes. He ejects Rocket from his shoulder before deciding that dealing with Yondu is more important than choking down another bowl of Gamora’s cooking. “Dude slow down, what’s the deal?”

“Nothin’. Go away.” 

“We both know you’re lyin’, man!” 

“I messed up. I had a chance and I blew it.” Yondu doesn’t slow his pace, and Peter can tell he’s on his way to the med station. He stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Peter’s never really seen fear on Yondu’s face, not like this. Not even floating in the vacuum of space, prepared to die, had his face looked like this. But now that the anger has melted off, he looks terrified and more than a little guilty. 

“Dude, if it’s about Kraglin, calm down. It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know Kraglin like I do-”

“God I should hope not.”

“This ain’t a joke Quill. He ain’t never gonna forgive this. I messed up.”

“Yondu, you and me both know Kraglin would let you get away with anything. You’re his Captain, with a capital C, man. How many years has it been with you guys?”

“You ain’t gettin it Quill, it ain’t about years, this ain’t like I stepped out on him, or cut him outta his share. This ain’t like I took your side over his.” Yondu sighs and slumps against the wall. He pulls the small inhaler from in his jacket, and gives it a suck only to find it’s empty. He tosses it to the side without looking at Peter. “Me and him, we talked about this sorta thing, after the arm. After lots of things. And…”

“And what?”

“In the event that he needed more cybernetics to live, I was supposed to let him die. I was supposed to make that call and let him die and I couldn’t. I couldn’t even let Nebula wake him up so he could decide for himself.” 

“Dude, stop right there man. That’s crazy talk!”

“But it’s what he wanted, and I couldn’t…” Yondu looks down the hallway towards the med station and shakes his head. “I never banked on having to make that choice, figured, what we do, he’d die quick. Here one second, gone the next. Never figured on having a cybernetic assassin that could plug in and draw it out.”

“Yondu, he’ll get over it, just like he got over the arm.” Peter says and feels pretty self-assured of the fact. Sure Kraglin will be pissed, might sulk and avoid Yondu for a while, but he always comes around. He feels good enough to bet on it. That is until the screaming starts.

***

Awareness comes back to Kraglin slowly, like surfacing from an underwater trench. The first thing he notices is the pain in his head followed by the pain in his gut. He can tell a numbing agent has been used to mask the worst of the aches, which he’s grateful for. If this is how he feels with it, he’d hate to know how much pain he’s supposed to be in. He cracks one eye then the other and groans when the light of the overhead lamps blinds him. His mouth is flooded with the taste of metal when he speaks. “Flarkin’ hell.”

“You’re awake. Don’t move.” Even if he can’t see her he’d know that sultry set of sub vocals anywhere and he freezes. He can hear her checking his vitals and chances opening his eyes again. 

“What happened?”

“You were wounded trying to retrieve my weapons. You have been unconscious since.”

Kraglin gulps. He gets the impression Nebula isn’t one to let failure go, and if she’s here playing nurse maid and not off killing Thanos, he’s guessing they failed pretty bad. “I’m sorry we didn’t get your weapons.” She glances at him with those black fathomless eyes and he tries to smile at her, big and dopey and innocent. It hurts his face but he hopes she knows he means it. 

“What do you remember?” She asks and her expression doesn’t even flicker. No tells.

“Sakarrans. Gettin’ shot. Petey draggin’ me back. Nothin’ after that. How long’ve I been out?” The fog in his brain is receding but he still gets the feeling something is missing. 

“A few cycles.”

“Awe hell then I can’t have been hurt that badly.”

“You died.”

Kraglin’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in shock and he feels the skin on the side of his head snag. Which is weird since, even with black spot in his memory, he’s pretty sure he didn’t sustain a head injury. “What’re you talkin’ bout I died?” He asks, mechanical hand slipping from underneath the blanket that’s covering him to scratch at the bit of tight skin. The same time he hears the sound of metal on metal, the blanket slides down enough to reveal the new silver expanse covering half his belly and side. His vision tunnels and he’s screaming before he can stop himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the biggest issue deciding where to cut this one off, so it's shorter than I wanted it to be. fricken thing. I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I honestly don't feel like it was my best writing, but atleast we get to have that fight we've all been waiting for. Comments keep me going, and we are now closing in on homeplate...soon...

Few things startle Nebula these days, not like when she was young and every shadow had looked like her father coming to rip a new piece off her body. Now she has enough sensors to generally tell who is in the immediate vicinity and whether they pose a threat. She’s also capable of killing 90% of living organism with nothing more than her hands. And she’s always prepared with more than her hands. All that said when Kraglin starts shrieking, in the very familiar way of someone who is on the last day of being tortured before their body finally succumbs to death, she jumps back. His hands are hovering over the plating on his torso, flexing like he can’t decide if he should touch it or not, eyes bugged out. When he does finally touch it, metal fingers scraping over metal plating, it’s with the aggressive intention of trying to pry it off. The screaming tapers off into a pathetic whimper. 

“What the hell! What the- Get it off! Get it off!” 

Nebula’s hands close around his wrists to pull his hands away from trying to burrow between the metal and his skin. “Don’t,” is all she manages to say before Kraglin yanks his metal arm free to punch her in the jaw. It’s a hard hit, the kind only a mechanical arm can deliver, boosted by all the animal fear running through the Xandarian on the cot. Her head reels to the side and she feels her jaw dislocate, but she can’t afford to think about it because that hand is back on Kraglin’s belly and the fingers have found an edge to dig at. Blood starts to well up about the time Yondu enters the med station.

“That’s enough Obfonteri!” 

“He’s trying to pull the plating up!” Nebula informs him, when her jaw snaps back into place. She gets another grip on the Xandarian’s hands as he thrashes his torso and snaps at her with razor teeth. For the first time she can see how maybe Kraglin might have managed to survive as a ravager for as long as he has. 

“What did you do to me?!” He wails and his eyes cut to Yondu’s guilty face when the man takes over holding one arm. The fear on his face coalesces into rage. “What did you do, you sonofabitch!?”

“Now just calm down and we can talk about it!” Yondu tries for charming and leans his bodyweight on him to get Kraglin to stop thrashing. He can tell it’s uncomfortable for him, no surprise since he just woke up from surgery, but it works as his energy wanes. There are betrayed tears starting to well in his eyes, angry tears. 

“Talk about it?! You want to talk about it?!”

“Kraglin…”

“You knew! You knew I wouldn't want this!” Nebula startles back again, releasing her grip on Kraglin’s arm which balls a fist into Yondu’s leathers as soon as it’s free. She turns her gaze toward the ravager captain before backing slowly out of the room. Not that either of the men in the room seem to notice, staring at each other as they are. She might as well be invisible. This was not an outcome she had anticipated. She bumps into Peter in the corridor, who’s standing with the dumbfounded look she might have had on her face if her face still made expressions like that. 

“You were dyin’.” Yondu says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world and Kraglin growls as one of those angry tears slips out and slides down his cheek. 

“You shoulda let me die!” Kraglin says and Yondu shakes his head. “You coulda let me die an’ given me a ravager’s funeral! You coulda lit me up and flown colors over my ashes! That was the deal!”

“I couldn’t! I couldn’t-”

“You greedy-” Kraglin pulls the metal arm back to throw another punch, only when he throws his fist forward Yondu’s already pulled back from him and the momentum tumbles his whole body off the cot and onto the floor. He lands on his stomach with a painful gasp, but when he tries to roll over onto his back another realization further kicks the air out of his lungs. “My legs. Yondu, why don’t my legs work?!”

“Now, calm down, it’s just a little thing-”

“A little thing! I can’t work my flarkin’ legs!” Kraglin snarls, using the cot to pull himself into a sitting position on the floor. 

“We weren’t able to get everything you needed all in one go. We’re on our way to Xandar to get you a-”

“An impulse regulator?” Kraglin spits again, arms crossed over his chest. 

It’s a weird thing Peter’s watching unfold. He’s seen Kraglin and Yondu fight and argue, privately, always privately, but in those interactions the thrust, parry and return thrust of the fight is obvious. Yondu never gives ground unless he plans to take it back and more often than not he can usually win Kraglin to his side. From where Peter’s watching this time, it looks like Yondu has started at a retreat. His hands are out in front of him in a placating gesture and he keeps smiling like that might appease the betrayed Xandarian.

“Yea, I already contacted a seller, we just gotta go and-”

“Great, another piece of scrap YOU can stuff in MY body!”

“Ok look, quit yer hollerin’, I’m still your captain!” 

Kraglin laughs. Not the kind borne from real amusement, but an ironic, self-loathing sort of chuckle, before gesturing at his paralyzed legs. “Afraid I won’t be runnin’ around followin’ orders _Captain_. Best be lookin’ to get a new first-mate eh? Maybe Quill,” The look on Kraglin’s face is the kind of ugly jealous Yondu hasn't seen since the earliest days of Kraglin and Peter’s squabbling. “I mean ain’t he always wanted it!”

“No one is gonna replace you as first-mate!” Yondu lets out a breath before crouching down, deliberately slow, over Kraglin’s legs. He expects to get a face full of teeth, wouldn’t be the first fight they’d had where it turned scrappy. There’s no backstabbing crew around to keep up appearances for anymore if Kraglin wants to start getting real honest. He looks Kraglin in the eyes before trying to further reassure him. “An’ even if someone could, Ain’t no one ever gonna replace you as my…” He chokes.

“Your what?” 

“Awe hell, you know what! My…” Yondu rubs a hand over his face before mumbling the rest down at Kraglin’s lap. “My man.” 

“Guess we’ll see how long that lasts, now I can’t fuck you proper.” Kraglin deadpans as another of the traitorous tears, which have been balanced on his lashes, sneaks out. He looks small, sat on the floor, arms tucked in close to himself. When he looks away from Yondu and towards the door he notices the audience still in the hallway. He looks Peter up and down and takes in the pitying look the boy can’t keep off his face. “Well done, Cap’n. You’ve made the rest of my life every fear I’ve ever had.”

“Kraglin-”

“Get out.”

“Now c’mon-”

“Get. Out. Sir.” He growls, sharp teeth bared in Yondu’s face. 

“Quit being so damn unreasonable!”

Kraglin swings again and this time his fist connects with the side of Yondu’s head, whose only glad he used the right arm and not the left. “I’m being unreasonable!? I have done everything you have ever asked me to do! I stood at your side for everything! Stakar, Ego, Ronan! All for you an’ that boy! And after all that, after everything, this is what you do? This is what that loyalty was worth.” All the fight goes out of him in the quiet seconds after the outburst and Kraglin slumps back against the frame of the cot. “Face it Cap’n. You never gave a damn about what I wanted.”

“You were dyin’, Krags.”

“An’ you shoulda let me. Tha’s what we agreed to 20 years ago, it’s what we agreed to 15 years ago, 10 years ago. It’s what we agreed to 5 years ago! You say you wanna talk about this? We did talk about this! But at the end of the day Captain Udonta gets what Captain Udonta wants.”

“It ain’t like that!”

“Really? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I asked you to leave, an’ yet here you still are. So tell me again how you give a shit about what I want, _Sir_.”

It’s a quiet standoff between the pair of them after that. Peter thinks about saying something, or at least offering to help Kraglin get off the floor, but Nebula halts him with a hand on his arm. Looking at her there’s something weird happening inside her skull right now too, but Peter isn’t inclined to ask her. She won’t stop staring at Kraglin though and it’s starting to get unnerving. It feels like a lifetime before Yondu speaks again.

“Ok, look, I’ll go. That’s what you want, I’ll go. Just let me help you back into bed and, promise you won’t dig anymore a that tech up. You do that, and you won’t have to see my ugly blue ass until you want to. Ok? Deal?”

“We both know your word ain’t worth squat.” Kraglin says, eyes drippy and defeated. Yondu gives him a suffering look before extending his own arms towards his first mate. He hooks them under Kraglin’s and hauls him up to sit on the cot, before hefting his legs one at a time. He tucks him in, hands lingering maybe a little more than they should, while Kraglin pointedly doesn’t look at him. 

“Now you just sit tight and you’ll see, we’ll get that regulator and everything will work out.” Yondu says, patting him on the leg before he remembers Kraglin can’t feel it. He exits the room with a shuddery breath and one last look at his first mate. 

In the hallway Peter’s still waiting with the gob smacked expression of a kid watching his parentals fight for the first time. If his ears weren’t still ringing from Kraglin’s mean right hook, he might have something smart to say to wipe that look off Quills face. As it stands, between the headache that’s blooming across his brow and the feeling of having his heart kicked in, Yondu isn’t feeling up for another squabble. 

“We gotta get that regulator. Soon, or I wouldn’t put it passed ol’ Krags there to rip all those fancy components out with his bare hands.” Peter nods at him, words still eluding him.

“You knew he would have chosen death over cybernetic enhancement?” Nebula accuses in a whisper, and her anger is as palpable as Kraglin’s had been. Yondu spares her a quick glance before walking away.

“Yea, I did. Quill meet me on the bridge in 30, we need to plot a faster course.”

“Yea, sure Yondu.” Peter says to his retreating back. A soft whimpering sound interrupts the quiet that follows Yondu’s retreat and when both Peter and Nebula glance back in the med station they realize it’s coming from Kraglin. It’s not really crying, Peter decides, but it’s close enough that it makes him feel a little sick. Kraglin has one hand balled up in the blanket covering him while the fingers of his mechanical arm pick the bit of pulled up plating on his stomach. 

“We are not going to make it to Xandar fast enough.” Nebula remarks and Peter can’t help but agree with her. 

“Yea….” Is all Peter says before he’s retreating as fast if not faster than Yondu had.

“Where are you going?!” 

“Can you distract him? Maybe? I got like half an idea of something we could do.” 

Nebula glances at him, wary black eyes narrowed. “I can try.”

“Great, uh…then I’m gonna go. “

He’s in the Milano before he knows it, decoupling codes plugged in, the Awesome Mix playing in the background. He checks his blasters and his helmet and plugs the coordinates for his destination in the navigator. There’s only one more thing he needs before he leaves. He hits his comm, “Hey Mantis, you got a second?”

***

Kraglin’s managed to peel a skinny piece of plate away from the inner support mesh by the time he notices someone has come back to med station. He can see the flash of blue in his peripheral and grinds his teeth in annoyance. “Knew you wouldn’t keep your word.”

“I thought you might be hungry.” He isn’t expecting Nebula, standing there with a bowl full of what smells like food. “There were some dehydrated soup packets with your name on them. You shouldn’t leave your stomach empty for too long.”

“‘M not hungry.” He says and continues to scratch where pink flesh grafts to silver. She doesn’t leave, just stands like a statue awkwardly holding the bowl in her hands. There’s no expression on her face that Kraglin can make out but he gets the feeling she’s there for more than soup. 

“You have to eat.”

“I don’t have to do no such thing.” 

“If you will not eat I will force feed you like a recalcitrant child.” And she would, he can tell. He sighs, no energy left to try and fend her off, and extends his hand to take the bowl. He gives it a cautious sniff before slurping up a spoonful. It tastes better than it has any right to being not more than powder and water. 

“Thanks.” She nods and continues to stand, staring at him. He gestures for her to sit on the cot with him and is momentarily surprised when she does. She sits the way he expects, back stiff and facing the wall instead of him, but he can tell she’s still watching him. “Look whatever you wanna say jus’ spit it out. I know that whole scene with the Cap’n was a little-”

“I’m sorry.” She turns her head to look at him. It’s almost the exact opposite of what he’s expecting.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. I had no right to do this to you.” 

Kraglin shakes his head. He’s a little choked and mucusy still and doesn’t know if he could handle a heart to heart with the “Universes Greatest Sadist”. Nebula continues on nonplussed, if she notices his discomfort she doesn’t seem to give it much thought.

“Udonta tried to stop me. But I was quicker. I knew I could save your life, so I ignored him.”

“Why would give a damn about my life?” Kraglin asks, incredulous. He sucks another slurp of soup down before setting the bowl to the side.

Nebula’s eyes flutter when she looks away, “Doesn’t matter. I sought to save you and now I can see I’m no different than my father.”

Kraglin blinks at her a few times, memory recalling the last conversation they’d shared about Thanos. Nebula’s not someone he would ever consider vulnerable, not with all the obvious modifications and weapons grade implants that make her up. Not to mention the years of training that have honed her skills. But right now, he sees maybe a bit of the scared girl she had been. The juxtaposition does nothing to ease his increasing discomfort. “This ain’t the same as what he did to you.”

“Isn’t it? I did this without consent, without a care for your wishes. You could have had the honorable death you wanted, and instead I saddled you with this.” She runs a hand over the plating at his side, and Kraglin is surprised to feel it, surprised that it tickles. She trails her hand away from the metal at his side before pressing it against his chest. If he hadn't been sure before he is now, knows that the heart beating in his chest isn’t his own anymore. “Why do you hate them so much?” There’s more in her question then she says and Kraglin deciphers it easily. 

He sighs before letting his mechanical hand wrap around hers, voluntarily, and looks her in the eye. “Just because I don’t like tech on me, don’t mean it ain’t nice on other people.”She tries to pull her hand back and glares when Kraglin won’t let it go. He thinks she might even be blushing a bit under all that synthetic skin.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Cybernetics make you dangerous, and not always to your enemies. The less of you is you, the more it's someone else's. It can make you a liability. A first mate can’t afford to be a liability.” 

“I….see.” She tries to pull her hand back a second time and again Kraglin’s grip doesn’t loosen. “So it’s about Udonta.”

“Pfft. No! No it’s-”

“Seems to me like you already belong to someone else, whether your parts are organic or not.” It’s insightful, and maybe said to get a rise out of him. If he had any energy it might have been a good tactic. 

“Maybe.” He deflects with a smile, “Why don’t you tell me more about how the Cap’n tried to stop you. Because if it’s less than an actual whistle well then he didn’t try very hard.” 

“Hoping I’ll say I vanquished him in battle to save your life?”

“Now you’re just tryin’ to make me blush. Did you?”

***  
Yondu is on his third star chart when the timepiece near his bed chimes again, letting him know he’s supposed to meet Quill on the bridge 5 minutes ago. No matter how hard he tries there isn’t a faster way to Xandar. It’s on the other side of the quadrant and even with using the closest jumps they can it will still take at least one cycle. 

“Krags’ll have all his innards out by that point.” He’s feeling frayed and a little desperate at this point, and the ugly accusations that Kraglin had hurled at him had struck hard. Harder than even the mutiny had. Kraglin had tried to warn him 3 or 4 times about Taserface, and he’d continued to brush him off. No that powder keg hadn’t been Kraglin’s fault, he’d just been the final push they needed. It does highlight one problem though that Yondu can’t ignore anymore. He really should listen to his second more often. 5 minutes later the alarm chimes again and the Centaurian throws down his holopad and whistles his yaka arrow through the timepiece. 

He grabs the long coat off the back of his seat and shoulders into it, checking the inside pocket for the glass frog. “He’ll come around, he always does.”

Of course when he gets to the bridge Quill is nowhere to be found and the Quadrant is stalled in autopilot. “What the hell, Quill!”

“He’s not here.” Mantis is seated in front of the huge front window, looking out at the green and orange swirling star clusters that make up the view. Knowhere is a distant speck nestled in amongst the rest of the stars.

“I can see he ain’t here Little Bug.” Yondu says, exasperated as he goes to walk back out the door and look for Peter.

“Don’t you want to know where he is?” Mantis turns her large doe eyes away from the view and towards Yondu, who rolls his eyes before turning back around. This is just like Quill and he knows he isn’t going to like the answer, knows it the way he knows he’s going to end up having to pull the boy out of a tight fix later. He just hopes the answer isn’t what he thinks it is.

“You know, I don’t think I do wanna know.” Yondu says sauntering closer to Mantis, pace leisurely. “Because I’m certain, YOU are about to tell me he’s done something stupid. Something he probably thinks is very heroic. Something that’s likely to get him hurt.” The serene smile that had been plastered on Mantis’ face has slipped off and she’s starting to look a little worried. She’s such a sweet thing and Yondu knows she’d never agree to help in a plot that might end up hurting one of her new friends. Poor thing really isn’t prepared for the rest of the Galaxy. “So what did he talk you into helping with, that has you lookin’ so guilty Grasshopper?”

“He….” She seems hesitant as she wrings her hands together. Yondu can’t help but smile at her.

“Go on, you can tattle to his old man. I won’t tell him it was you.” 

“He left. I was supposed to….”

“Where did he go?”

“He said, he was going back to Knowhere, that Xandar would take too much time. And …”

He doesn’t stop smiling, can’t, because the whole thing is exactly what he figured Quill had done. He also doesn’t want to alarm Mantis more than she already looks to be. “You know, someday I’m really gonna stop comin’ to that kid’s rescue.” With a shake of his head, smile still in place, Yondu turns toward the control console to get the ship up and moving. The Quadrant is more than fast enough to catch the Milano once her engines get hot. 

He doesn’t realize his mistake until he feels the brush of Mantis fingers against the back of his skull. The last thing he hears before he falls face first onto the floor is a softly uttered, “Sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! since i feel so bad about making a few of you cry with the last chapter i figured i owed you another update this week. So sorry, I hope this one doesn't hurt you as much. Theres alot of like really over the top suger sweet sap in this one. We're almost at the end.

Peter puts back into Knowhere and grabs a transport as soon as his feet are on the ground. He has no idea how much time Mantis can buy him and he needs to strike a deal before Yondu can stop him. “Man I hope that scraggly butt-munch appreciates how much shit I’m gonna be in later.”

When the transport docks, and Peter makes his way through the tunnel, he’s surprised by how different the place looks. The green dynamo that had been spinning at the center is still, little more than a bit of glowing space rock visible at its center, and the bots all seem to be settled into different racks for a charging cycle. It’s far less intimidating than the monster movie set Peter had walked into the first time. The ambiance isn’t the only thing that’s less intimidating though. 

Araneae is still seated at her work table at the center of the room, but gone is the impressive spiny headdress, her eyes instead covered instead by a gold hood. Her black rubber breast wrap and apron have been traded for a long grey slip fastened around the neck by a gold choker connected to the hood. Even with still being eight feet tall possessing multiple arms, Peter has to admit, she’s much more elf than spider this time. Or maybe goddess would be the right word. Small g. She beckons him forward with one of her four hands and smiles when he doesn’t hesitate to sit at the table with her. Her pointy vampire bat slash squid teeth still freak him out. “I knew you would come back, Peter Quill.” 

“Did you?”

“Of course.” 

When she volunteers no other explanation or details Peter shrugs. “So tell me about sharin’ dreams. How’s that work exactly?”

“Simple really. You sleep and I watch. If you fear for nightmares, don’t. I seek to partake of your pleasures, not your horrors.”

“So do you control what I dream?”

“Not me.” One of Araneae’s upper hands reaches for a metal orb that had been floating over a heat source off to the side. Her thumbs dig into a dent on the side and a small hole opens on the top. Peter tries not to be unsettled by it when she suddenly upends the orb over a small shallow bowl and a green liquid pours out. She fills two of the small bowls before offering one to Peter. “Tea.”

“Oh, right. Tea. Of course it is.”

“You drink that and it will ensure good dreams and deep sleep.”

Peter sniffs at the green concoction in the bowl, in his hand it’s about the right size for a teacup, in Araneae’s koala like grip it looks more like a spoon than a cup. “We both drink it?”

“I like the flavor, it hasn’t affected me in….well longer than you’ve been alive, anyway.”

“Ok so what’s the catch? Why didn’t Yondu want me to do this?”

Araneae daintily brings the cup to her thin lips and sips. “There is always the chance you will prefer your dream and stay asleep. No one can say how deep you might go, or whether you will be able to pull yourself back out.”

“Lady, I’m a legendary outlaw slash galaxy saver with his own private flying saucer. It’s not exactly a life I’m trying to escape.” 

“Then drink and we shall see.”

“And you’ll just hand the regulator over when I wake up?”

“If you wake up. And yes, it’s yours.” 

Peter stares into the swirling contents of his cup, watching as a bit of loose leaves settle to the bottom. “Well then I guess this is bottoms up!” He says and tips the contents back in a single gulp. “So how long until...woah.” Peter feels his eyelids start to droop, his vision swims in spirals for a moment. Araneae reaches for him, all four arms grasping to lay him across her table, two lifting his legs up, one folding his hands over his chest and another brushing his forehead.

“I have looked forward to this for a long time, little Starlord.” 

***

“Come and Get Your Love” plays through the speakers in the Zune dock that sits on the shelf above the laundry shoot in the bathroom. The whole room is full of steam and in a voice, completely off key Peter sings to the shower head while he scrubs his hair. He rinses his hair and does a quick scrub and rinse of the rest of his body before shutting off the water. He’s wiped off the mirror above the sink and has his toothbrush stuffed in his mouth before the song tapers off.

“Peter hurry up! We don’t want to be late!” He rolls his eyes at the woman on the other side of the door as he spits toothpaste into the sink. 

“Alright, Gamora I heard you the last time!”

“Well I can’t believe you’re still in the bathroom!” He laughs and shakes his head before throwing open the bathroom door, towel conveniently forgotten. Gamora is standing in the hallway, mocha arms crossed over her front, mouth set in a firm line. Something about her feels off, but Peter puts it down to her hair, which is braided and wrapped in a bun, rather laying in long straight lengths down her back. Even scowling at him, she’s still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Well ok, there had been that one red-headed chick at the diner a few years back, and the Korean girl at the auto service stop with the freckle on her cheek, but Gamora is easily in the top five. And better than all the rest because soon, she’ll be his, and he’ll be hers. 

“5 minutes and I’ll be ready to go. Besides, no one is even going to be there ‘til what, two?” 

She ignores the fact that he’s standing stark naked in front of her, “And I suppose you plan to leave all the setup to everyone else?”

“Gamora it’s _our_ engagement party! Of course I’m gonna- Hey!” Gamora walks away from him before he can finish speaking. “You look beautiful!” He calls after her before smiling and heading to their bedroom to quickly dress himself. 

He finds Gamora in their kitchen putting the final touches on a huge salad and glaring into the bowl. “Don’t spill anything, it’d be a shame if you got something on that nice green dress.” Peter says eyebrows jumping up and down at the exasperated face she pulls. “Well I’m ready if you’re ready, you wanna drive or should I?”

“I will drive, you may carry the salad.” 

“I’m just gonna eat pieces off the top.”

“Peter, if you touch that salad before we get to your parent’s house I will personally tie you up behind the Jeep and drag you.” With that Gamora nabs the keys from his hand and presses a kiss to his cheek before heading out the front door. Peter glances around, making sure she’s really gone, before he sneaks a cherry tomato off the top of the salad and pops it in his mouth. 

“What she doesn’t know.” He says to himself, bowl in hand.

The drive to his parent’s house isn’t long, although it is out towards the country rather than in town. Most of it is just fields and fields and fields, but the air is warm and the sky is clear. It’s as close to a perfect day as Peter can remember, and when Gamora turns up the radio so she can hum along, one hand tapping against the steering wheel he falls in love all over again. 

They pull into the empty gravel driveway of a two story house with white siding and a black roof. When Peter walks inside and into the kitchen his mother is leaned over a large Nesco stirring what might be pulled pork. When she turns to greet her guests her face lights up to see her son.

“There’s my boy!” She drops her ladle and unties her apron, taking the salad bowl from Peter and kissing him on the cheek before doing the same to Gamora. Meredith Quill, is a fine boned beautiful woman just over the line of middle aged. Her curls still have all their bounce even as they begin to streak with greys. Her crow’s feet and smile lines are prominent, proof of a life filled with happiness even amongst its trials. “What is this? You two know you didn’t have to bring anything!”

“Hey Ma. Anyone else here? Where’s the psycho?” 

“Oh well, that gazebo you an’ him were puttin’ up yesterday. A side fell down. He’s been out there cussin’ up a blue streak at it since this mornin’.”

“Let me guess, it was a side I put up?” 

“Oh well I wouldn’t know -”

“Of course it’s the side you put up boy!” Yondu’s voice echoes through the hallway and Peter rolls his eyes the same time his mother does. “Now git out my way so I can kiss that fine woman who’s got the bad sense enough to wanna marry you.” He shoves straight passed Peter and wraps Gamora in a big reciprocated hug and rubs a kiss into her cheek. 

“Dad. Are those surfboards on your shirt? Fishing lures?” Peter asks, staring at the garish and ugly Hawaiian style shirt his father is wearing. Yondu rubs a red, sun burnt arm across his bald forehead and looks over the rim of his black oval sunglasses at Peter.

“Why? You got a problem with surf boards now?”

“Dude, it’s an ugly shirt.”

“I like this shirt! Your mother likes this shirt!” Yondu’s wandered further into the kitchen and he sneaks a tomato off the top of Gamroa’s salad, before delivering a small pinch to Meredith’s rear. She swats at him with an indulgent smile, snapping the top back on the Nesco before any more wandering fingers can nick anything else. “Besides we ain’t talkin’ ‘bout my fashion sense, we’re talkin’ about YOUR inability to secure a gazebo wall.” 

“It was secure!”

“Obviously not or it would still be up.”

“Yondu if you need a hand putting it back up I’d be happy to help.” Gamora volunteers thumb pointing over her shoulder towards the back door. Her lips twitch as she tries to hold in her smile when Peter gapes at her. Yondu’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Thank you Gamora, but I wouldn’t feel right lettin’ a good woman like you marry a man who can’t even secure a particle board wall.”

“Dad-”

“Nope, C’mon boy, leave the women folk alone and come help your old man.” He’s got Peter by the elbow and out down the backyard lawn before he can protest. It’s a large backyard on a country plot, with a vegetable garden at the back, fields on one side and woods on the other. It used to belong to Peter’s grandparents, but at the moment he can’t remember on whose side they were, Quills or Udontas. The white gazebo at the center is the newest addition, pretty and decorated with fake flowers for the wedding. And sure enough one side of the octagon is lying flat on the ground. “You get on one side and I’ll pull it back in and stick some nails in the top. You got that boy?”

“Yea I gotcha.” It isn’t heavy and Peter hefts it up with one arm while Yondu pushes the top up enough so it’ll slot back into the groove. It takes five minutes with both of them and when it’s done Yondu slaps him on the back and smiles. 

“Oh perfect timing! The hard work is done and I missed it!” Peter turns his head and is confused for a moment by the stranger walking down the backyard, small child propped on his hip. He has a full beard, greying on the sides of his mouth and his brown hair is long and pulled back into a ponytail. Other than all the hair he has a straight pointed nose, deep brown eyes and a visage Peter figures could be considered handsome. “I even brought my tools, in case Quill had really messed up.” 

As soon as he’s close enough, the child, with equally brown hair and eyes, reaches for Yondu and is easily passed. Yondu hefts him up on his hip and looks at him with a crooked smile. “Hey there twig, got any words for me today?” The question is directed as much at the stranger as it is at the boy, who shakes his head and points towards the garden. “Oh well alright. Let’s go see if anything is ready for you to eat. Swear you’re a bottomless pit. Pete why don’t you and Rocket grab a beer and get to settin’ up those chairs ‘fore anyone else gets here.”

“Do I look like a serving boy to you, old man?”

“Nah, ya look like a Rat. Now excuse me I’m a little busy here.” Rocket grins as Yondu makes his way towards the garden, little Groot propped on his hip, legs hanging, grass stains already on his socks. 

“You know pretty soon, Groot’s gonna be bigger than that old man.” 

“Still ain’t talkin yet?” Peter asks, and suddenly the face he’s looking at is familiar and friendly. He doesn’t know why it took him so long to place it, but the whole day’s been weird. He puts it down to pre-wedding jitters.

“Nah, doctors say he’ll talk when he’s ready. Suggested I try speech class in a couple a years if he still ain’t talkin’. You believe that? Speech class. Kid’s fine, and hey if I could get away with not having to talk to half the people I have to I would.” 

They grab several folding chairs from the basement propping them up around the backyard before sitting down to relax, beers in hand.

“Drax and Mantis coming by today too?” Rocket asks, wiping a dusty hand off on his jeans.

“Yea, later I think.” Peter says. From where he’s sitting he can see Gamora walking down the way toward them accompanied by a blonde woman in a blue dress. His stomach flip flops when he realizes who she is.

“Heh, you know people can say what they want about Groot, but atleast I don’t bring my grief counselor to everything.” 

“Dude he lost his family! If she helps, she helps.”

“Doesn't make it less weird, Quill.” Rocket says, tipping his bottle towards Peter before taking a long pull. He waves when he notices Gamora.

“Rocket, Peter, You both remember my sister Nebula?”

“Of course how’s it goin’ Nebs!” Skittish eyes narrow at Rocket’s familiar shortening of her name but he doesn’t seem deterred. Peter can’t help but smile when Gamora rolls her eyes skyward, he knows how much his best friend gets on her nerves. Groot runs back to them, mouth stuffed with assorted vegetables, a carrot and some beans held in his hands. 

“Peter your mother wanted you in the kitchen.” Gamora says over her sister’s shoulder and Peter jumps up to run back to the house. 

Inside his mother is putting the final touches on chocolate cookies that must have just come out of the oven. “I made some of those cookies the little one likes, spoon is in the bowl over there, figured I could save that part for you.” She winks at him, and Peter has the chocolate covered spoon stuffed in his mouth before she can say anything else. “Hey, think you could plug that little music gizmo you got into the outdoor speakers. People’ll be showin’ up soon and we should have some tunes.”

“Ma, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” 

“Peter, I’ve only got one son, it ain’t no trouble. And Gamora is a beautiful girl, and after everythin’ she’s been through don’t you think she deserves a bit of fuss?” Meredith says setting the pie on the counter next to the Nesco. “I want her to feel like family.”

“She does. You and the maniac out there; she loves you guys.” 

“Good, there’s nothin’ more important than family Peter.” She says, hands on either side of his face. She scoops a bit of chocolate off his chin with her thumb and somehow it makes Peter feel 8 years old again. 

“I know Mom.” He wraps her up in a hug and feels himself getting choked up. He doesn’t know why, he only knows he has to hug her right now and never let go, nothing is more important. 

“I love you Peter. And I’m so happy for you and Gamora.”

“I love you too. Thanks.”

“Ok enough with all this sap, go plug in your Zune. And Peter, make sure you play that song your father likes.” She grabs up the tray of cookies off the stove and heads for the backyard. Through the window over the sink, Peter can see that Drax and Mantis have arrived, Drax’s arms over laden with bags and gift boxes. He knows there are assorted aunts and uncles and cousins and old family friends that will be arriving shortly, but right now all the people who really matter are all together smiling, hugging, and laughing out there right now. He watches his mother set the tray of cookies on one of the party tables before Yondu scoops her up in his arms and buries his face in her neck. Drax wraps his arms around Rocket and squeezes him in a hug that has to be uncomfortable on the spine while the rest of the girls and Groot laugh at his expense. 

He plugs his Zune in and automatically pulls up the Awesome Mix Playlist and selects the first song. “Hooked On a Feeling” Begins to play through the speakers as he heads back out.

“Oh god damnit Mer! You know I hate this damn song.” Yondu grumps as Meredith sticks her tongue out at him, waving her hips back and forth to the beat. 

“Don’t lie, you love this damn song.” She grabs him by the hand and makes him spin her. He pulls her back in and places one hand at her back palm turned outward and sways her to the music. Peter takes his seat next to Gamora and watches his parents, in love and dancing. It’s only a moment before Rocket and Groot join the pair and drag Mantis with them. 

“You think we’ll be like that when we're old?” Gamora asks, cheek leaned against his shoulder. 

“Nah.” Peter says with a shake of his head and a finger pointed at his father, “I will definitely have better fashion sense than that.”

Gamora laughs and pinches his arm, “I happen to think the surfboards are adorable.”

“You only think that because he’s old.”

“I ain’t so old I can’t hear you talkin smack over there boy!” Yondu calls over his shoulder. 

Peter turns his face back to Gamora with a faux guilty look and something behind her catches his eye. He thinks maybe it’s an animal, there are plenty of deer in the area and he squints to get a better look. It isn’t moving very fast and the jerky movement’s make Peter wonder if maybe it’s hurt. When it breaks the tree line Peter realizes it’s not an animal but a man, clutching his gut and dripping blood everywhere. 

“Holy shit! Kraglin!” Peter’s out of his seat in a second before anyone else can react. 

“Who?” Yondu’s soft and confused utterance brings the whole thing to a screeching halt. Peter turns away from the man, who’s dropped to his knees and is hacking blood onto the ground to look back at his- no, not his father, at least not like this. No one else is moving but now that Peter is looking at them everything seems more wrong by the second. 

“Honey, who’s Kraglin?” His mother asks, half hiding behind Yondu, hand clutching his, and it hurts, it hurts so badly because this isn't right. His mother is dead, she never loved the man he considers his father, they’d never even met. Yondu isn’t a badly dressed human in oval sunglasses who lives in Missouri and still pinches his wife’s ass. But looking at them this way, it all seems so believable.

“Kraglin, he’s….he’s…” _My dad’s life partner._ Gamora reaches for him and there is concern in her gaze but also love, so much love, but it isn’t her. Gamora’s skin is green and her hair is tinged pink on the bottom, and she carries a sword, and wears black leather and Peter loves all of that about her, wouldn’t dream of changing it. Except he had. He’d rewritten her completely as a woman who wants to be his wife, who loves his family and who gets to have a real relationship with her sister. 

“Peter, are you ok?” She asks and he knows there are tears slipping down his cheeks, because none of it is real even though a moment ago it had all seemed so perfect. 

“No,” He whispers and he presses his forehead against hers, “I have to wake up.” 

“But you don’t. You could stay here with me. With us.” Kraglin chooses that moment to cough loudly and Peter looks back to him. Their eyes meet and desperation is etched across the Xandarian’s face. Gamora grabs his cheek and pulls him back to her.“Please, I love you. Stay.” 

“I can’t...I…”

“Peter, Pete please… I’m dyin.” Kraglin warbles, blood in his mouth and dripping down his front. 

“Gamora, I have to wake up. This isn’t real.”

“It can be. All you have to do is stay, and forget about him.” She says and he wants to, he really wants to stay.

“Peter! Peter Wake up!” Kraglin shouts again and the haze that has been floating around Peter’s brain since he took a shower this afternoon begins to dissipate. “Peter! C’mon boy wake up!”

“I have to go.” He feels a heaviness to his body where a moment ago had been only a weightlessness. As everything begins to grow dark Peter sneaks one last look at his mother, aged as she might have been had she lived that long, and finds he doesn’t recognize her face. Doesn’t recognize any of their faces, had only thought he had. 

“Wake up! C’mon boy you gotta wake up! Awe Hell son c’mon…”

***  
“Wake up!” Peter comes to with a deep shuddering gasp, eyes blinking rapidly. Leaned over him and far too close for his liking is Yondu, blue skinned and red eyed as he’s always been, plastic breathing mask strapped over his nose. He’s got Peter by the lapels with one hand, shaking him, while his other levels some kind of retrofitted ravager cannon at Araneae, who stands with all four hands up. “You back with me boy?!” 

“Yea I’m...I’m up.” Peter says. He notices Gamora, Rocket and Drax all standing around him, as battle ready as Yondu and has to blink several times to get their human counterparts out of his head. He rubs his wet eyes and tries to shake off the lingering fog of sleep. “Must have slept through my alarm.”

“Peter, are you-”

“I’m fine Gamora.” 

“Good, because as soon as we get your reckless Terran hide back on the Quadrant I’m gonna kick your ass.” Yondu says, using his grip on Peter’s lapel to yank him to his feet. 

“Dude, cool it I’m fine!”

“Starlord,” Araneae starts, but stops when Yondu growls at her.

“Oh no! You have done more than enough Ari! You’re lucky I don’t-”

“Your boy made a bargain, allow me to give him what he has earned.” She hisses impulse regulator held aloft in one of her raised hands. The device is shaped like a disk, meant to sit and anchor between vertebrae, and in her palm it seems very small, like some kind of ancient coin. “However I would ask him a question.”

“No questions.” Yondu rasps, keeping himself between Araneae and Peter. The small worker bots have begun to power on and seem to be beginning to congregate around the Guardians, a swarm of robotic crabs, all chittering while awaiting orders.

“Ask Away.” Peter counters and Araneae smiles at him, retracting her hand to hide the regulator.

“What if I told you, you could have your dream, and all you would have to do is forget about the regulator? Would you do it?”

Peter scoffs and shakes his head. “Not possible. My mother is dead.”

Araneae chuckles at him, deep and reverberating. “Within the Multiverse there are so many doors, death is not always the end.” She drops her hands and takes a step towards him, but halts when Yondu makes a show of flicking a switch to power up the cannon. “There are powers in this universe Starlord, you could barely comprehend. What would you sacrifice to have her back?”

It’s not a possibility that Peter has ever entertained. Dead is dead, there is nothing else. Ok maybe there’s an afterlife, depending on which species or planet you ask, but all of that is beyond him. He likes to think his mother is happy in whatever afterlife she’s in, and if there isn’t one well at least she’s not suffering. 

“You’re asking if I’d trade Kraglin’s life for hers.” 

Araneae grins and stands straight to her full height and holds the regulator out to him. “Would you?” She asks, black teeth shining wet in the low glow light of her domain, and Peter knows his answer.

They all manage to leave Araneae’s nest without resorting to bloodshed, although Yondu looks like maybe a little violence could be good for him. It’s a quiet tense ride back to the Quadrant which gets no lenss tense when they all enter the cargo bay. Peter turns the regulator over in his palm a few times before deciding maybe he should say something. “Look I know you said don’t-”

“Boy if you don’t shut up.” Yondu growls, shunting the cannon into a rack on the wall. He rounds on Peter with a snap of his long coat and Peter rolls his eyes even as he remembers when that kind of display used to terrify him. “Why is it when I tell you explicitly not to do somethin’ you get it in your fool head to run right out and do it?!”

“We needed this regulator, you and me both know-”

“You got no idea what you’ve done!” 

“I got us what we needed! I mean why are we even-”

“Araneae ain’t got no eyes, Quill!” Yondu shouts and it’s so strange, so disconnected from what they’re talking about it shuts Peter up. “How do you think she sees? You even consider that?”

“Wait...what?”

“She sees through your eyes, through your head! Now you let her in, you ain’t ever gonna have a secret from her! How much you think she could sell the secrets of the Guardians of the Galaxy for? Hell, she’s probably sittin’ back there in her hovel laughin’ her ass off at us right now!”

Peter doesn’t know what to say, it’s another possibility he hadn’t considered. He’d figured she had ulterior motives, but nothing quite on this scale. It leaves him feeling itchy, crawly like he’s covered in bugs.

“I warned you, Quill.”

“She was in your head, she-”Peter protests.

“This fin’s good for a whole lot more than just flyin an arrow, boy. You got a fin I don’t know about?” 

“Hey assholes.” Rocket interrupts them and Peter has to blink a few times. He’s still trying to shake off the imagery his dream keeps trying to overlay over reality. “We can keep arguing, or Quill, you can hand me that regulator and I can go put the final touches on Kraglin. Your choice.” Peter forks over the regulator without a second thought and turns back to reengage with his would be father figure. Only Yondu isn’t looking like he wants to fight anymore, he’s looking more like he could use a nap of his own. The bruise that’s bloomed on the side of his head is dark purple and matched by the one starting to show on his forehead. 

“You were standing when Mantis got you weren’t you?” Yondu scowls at him but it gives way to a smirk quickly.

“Was a clever bit there. Shoulda seen her face when I woke up. Thought her eyes might pop right out her head.” They both laugh before Yondu shakes his head and throws an arm about Peter’s shoulders in his own version of a hug. “Look, kid. I’m grateful. But next time just listen to your old man. I’m beggin’ ya.” He pats Peter on the cheek and starts to walk away, there’s no sense in arguing anymore. What’s done is done. And not for the first time Yondu finds he’s bone tired of always arguing. 

“Hey,” Peter calls to him before he can leave. “How do you know? About Araneae and-”

“How do you think we paid for that shiny new arm?” Yondu says and with that, he’s out the cargo bay doors and Peter is left alone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that sorta moment I hope you've been waiting for is here. We still have one more chapter to go before it's over, although I am entertaining writting some stand alone pieces in this verse if people would be interested in something like that. Anyway I hope you all enjoy this, and then go home and hug your respective Kraglin headcannons. It's alot of dialogue this time around, so i'm sorry if that get obnoxious. I love all of your comments, they have really helped me get this far.

“What do you mean he don't want it?!” Yondu asks, irritation evident in his voice. Peter rolls his eyes skyward before dropping his face to the table. The three of them are sat in the galley, called away from the bridge by Rocket apparently because Kraglin is being an ungrateful, obstinate little-

“Fucker.” Peter mumbles into the table.

“He says he don’t want it, and nothing, and I’m quoting him, you _blue potbellied sonofabitch or your pretty boy pet Terran_ say will make him change his mind. I even had Nebula threaten him, but nope, no go.” Rocket says with a shrug, arms folded over his small furry chest. All said it’s a pretty decent impression of Kraglin. 

“You tell him all the trouble I went through to get that thing?!” Peter whines, face still flat against the table. 

“Yea, he doesn’t care.” Rocket says and Peter sits back up and throws his hands in the air in defeat.

“Perfect! Well isn’t that just-”

“Let me talk to him. I’ll make him-” Yondu interrupts, standing and walking towards the door. Honestly at this point he could care less about the regulator’s ability to restore Kraglin’s legs for functional purposes. He just wants the whole ordeal over with. Rocket stops him with a tiny paw on his sleeve.

“Except he still doesn't want to see you.” 

“Like I give a rat’s-”

“Hey watch it Blue! Look I know this is frustrating,”

“Why do yall keep sayin’ that?”

“BUT, I really don’t think you barging in there, throwin’ your weight around, breaking your word is gonna get him to roll over.” 

Yondu cracks his neck and puts his hands on his hips. Peter can tell he’s weighing the consequences of his next move, face placid and eyes focused on nothing. He walks out the door anyway, coat flapping behind him. Peter heaves a sigh and jumps up to follow him.

“Where ya going?” He asks but Yondu’s path is obvious and Peter grabs his arm before he can round another corridor toward the med station.

“I’m gonna go make that idjit see reason.”

“Yondu, look, Rocket’s got a point.”

Yondu scoffs at him and disgustedly wrinkles his nose. “So what? We just let the fool sit in there with no legs? Pickin’ at his components until he got them all unwound out his body?”

“Nooo, but I don’t think you should be the one goin’ in there to talk to him.”

“An’ if not me then who? You? ‘Cause you an’ Krags have such a congenial history.”

“Well maybe it’s about time we bury the hatchet.”

Yondu blinks at him a few times. “What?”

“Bury the hatchet. It’s an Earth- Doesn’t matter, it means make peace.”

“Make peace? You’re gonna go make peace with Kraglin and convince him to let the Rat install that there regulator?” The look on Yondu’s face let’s Peter know he thinks he’s a moron. “Quill in 26 years you an’ him ain’t never really gotten on.”

“Yea but this is different. Look, let me try, if I fail you can still barge in and beat him into submission.”

Kraglin is still propped up on the cot in the med station, although he seems to have borrowed one of Peter’s own long sleeved shirts to cover up with. He has a holopad in his hand, some kind of digital game display showing on it. Some kind of card game played against an AI and from the look on his face, he’s losing.

“Thought I made it pretty clear to the fox that nothing you said would change my mind.” Kraglin says without lifting his eyes from his game.

“Dude don’t call him a fox.” Peter says with a shake of his head. Kraglin rolls his eyes in irritation when the game makes a noise alerting him to another lost hand, before fixing Peter with a long suffering look.

“What do you want Pete?”

“For you to let Rocket come in and install the regulator.”

Kraglin snorts and goes back to his game. “No.”

“Dude do you know what I did to get that.”

“Don't care.”

“I had to share-” 

“A dream with Araneae. Come off it Pete, you ain't the only one whose head she’s been in.” Kraglin tosses the holopad down on top of his useless legs and wraps his arms around himself. He pulls his left arm in close and determinedly looks away from Peter.

“You too? I figured it was Yondu.”

Kraglin shakes his head in the negative. “Centaurian’s are lucid dreamers, makes it a bad match for her. Plus he’s got that fin. Cap’n paid for the arm in other ways.”

Peter shudders at the implication. “He slept with her.”

“An’ I shared a dream to pay for the installation. Had to happen I guess, needed something a bit sturdier. You remember that little battle royal between me an’ Horuz? Over the first mate appointment?”

Peter nods, “Yea, he ripped your arm clean off. Way I recall it, it didn’t stop you from moppin’ the floor with the guy.” It had been an amazing fight. Horuz had been big, bulky with muscles like cables, where Kraglin had been all wiry sinew. At the end, Kraglin’s ability to take a hit over and over again had proven superior to Horuz’s.

“Didn’t have a choice, had to make sure the crew understood. Needed to earn my place. But it also meant I needed a new arm” The way Kraglin says it, _earn his place_ , strikes a memory Peter’s kept tucked away. They never talk about the first and last time Kraglin ever truly threatened Peter when he was young. If he’s honest, he and Kraglin don’t talk about much that could be considered personal. Not the captain, not the crew, and certainly not...

“How did you lose the arm in the first place?” It’s out of his mouth before he can think better about it. Kraglin scowls at him, nose wrinkled and eyes narrowed. There isn’t much trust between them, never has been, but since the mutiny and Ego there's been almost a kind of peace treaty. Maybe it’s because, beside Yondu, Peter’s all that’s left of the Clan. It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that Kraglin doesn’t spit in his face just for the asking, but seems to really be contemplating whether he’s going to answer the question.

“You really wanna know?” He asks and Peter holds his breath and nods. “It ain’t a pretty story.”

“Worse than the one about melted children?”

Kraglin snorts again and rolls his eyes with a smirk. “That old man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Well if he told ya that one, might as well tell ya this one.” He rolls the sleeve of his shirt up and lays it out flat so Peter can see his arm. It’s a smooth shiny expanse of red metal interspersed with silver accents.

“Was about, oh five years into the Cap’n havin’ his own galleon. He’d run with Stakar long enough to warrant a promotion, his own clan an’ all the trimmings. One of the original Ravager Captains. Anyway, one day Cap’n sends out four M-ships to scout out some kinda score on some kinda asteroid on the edge of occupied Kree space. But only three come back. So he sends out a scout team to check on the missing ship. And only one of those comes back. Now back then, one ship goes missing you can maybe write it off. But three ships, with crew? Cap’n can’t ignore that.” Kraglin swallows, eyes fixed on his metal hand while his organic one clenches in the blanket on his legs.

“So you went to investigate?” Peter prompts and Kraglin nods.

“Me and a few other bridge crew and one M-ship. Krylorian girl named Ravael, a Rajak kid and I forget the other two. And of course, Cap’n himself. Shoulda known better really. But when you’re young and dumb I guess...”

“It was a trap.”

“Oh yea! Course it was. Can’t even remember how they got the drop on us. One second we’re cloaked in empty space, next well, Ravael’s dead and the ship is full of holes. I got knocked out when the main battery blew. Came too chained up in a cargo hold, just me an’ the Cap’n.”

“Who was it?”

“Slave hunters lookin’ to collect on the Cap’n’s bounties. Leader was a big flarkin Badoon, ugly, mean sonofabitch. Turns out they’d set up the job on that asteroid to lure us in. So there we were, chained up in separate cells, me bleedin out my head an’ the Cap’n gagged with no yaka in sight when this green beast of a Badoon walks in. He looks at me an’ then he looks at the Cap’n. Says we got three days ‘til we make the first port, says he figures that leaves enough time for him an’ his crew to have some fun with the great Yondu Udonta!”

Peter gulps. Kraglin’s face has gone ashy and a tremble has settled into his right hand. His eyes meet Peter’s for the first time since starting his story and they’re wet, glassy orbs. 

“I knew what they was gonna do and I couldn’t let them, not...Not while I was breathin’. Not knowin’ him as I did, I mean, we’d been sharin’ a bed for over a year at that point an’ I just couldn’t sit there an’ watch them. So I did the only thing I could think of.”

“You offered to take his place.” Kraglin nods.

“Made a good case for it too; more available holes since I didn’t need to be gagged, plus I were real young and limber, promised not to struggle. The Badoon, he laughed at me, said I had to be a brave man to make that offer. An’ like an idiot I said I was, brave that is. Guess that was what he wanted to hear ‘cause he dropped the Cap’n an’ came into my cell. Leaned down real close, smiled at me. Said something like, flesh for flesh, asked me to shake on it. My right arm were chained to the wall so I held out my left one an’ he took it. With a cleaver. Right at the wrist.” 

Peter has to look away from him. Because Kraglin is missing a whole lot more than a hand and if this is the story so far he’s not sure he wants to hear the rest. He’s facing down the corridor and he can see that Yondu has himself tucked into one the alcoves, listening to them. His fists are clenched and his eyes big, defensive.

“Didn’t even really register what happened ‘til he held up my hand and waved it at me. Saw the blood before I felt the pain.” Kraglin says running a shaking thumb over his mechanical palm.

“God man that’s-”

“Nowhere near the end.” Peter runs a hand down his face and turns back to stare down at Kraglin’s exposed metal wrist, tries not to picture a cleaver lodging itself in the space between his palm and his forearm. Kraglin continues on, and if he’s concerned about Peter’s staring he doesn’t say so. “I must have passed out again, ‘cause when I woke up my arm was wrapped up, didn’t appear to be bleedin’ much. No idea how much time passed before the Badoon came back. Didn’t hide the cleaver this time, skipped right by the Cap’n and came to my cell. Got down by me, an’ I couldn’t help it I cried, right there with my Cap’n watchin’. He asked if I was still feelin’ brave. But I weren’t, I tried to hide. So he tells his men to strip down the Cap’n. Got as far as gettin’ his pants off before I asked him to stop, before I said I was feelin’ brave again. Badoon said to make him an offer. So I did, offered him the arm from the elbow to the wrist.” With his right hand Kraglin draws his finger over his left elbow. 

“And he took it?” Peter asks, mouth dry. It’s like they’re sitting in a vacuum, the entire ship is quiet and the way Kraglin is spinning the story it’s almost like Peter was there with them. The trembling that was in Kraglin’s arm is in his whole body now. 

“First he asked me to shake on it. Put out his hand and I put out my stump. He grabbed it and squeezed and I screamed. It hurt more that time you know, ‘cause I knew it was comin’. One swing, and the cleaver came down and took that bit of my arm right off. And they left. I spent the rest of the night cryin’ and screamin’, trying to stop the bleedin’. Figured that was as bad as it would get. Shouldn’t have.”

Kraglin takes a breath and runs a hand over his face. Peter’s never really thought about it, the way ravagers live, the things they see. Yondu had always had a zero sentiment policy which had always made Peter a target. He’d hated it, everyone poking at him, teasing him, but now he wonders what kind of ugly shit each one of them had had locked up. Peter hadn’t chosen a ravager life, but Kraglin had, and how bad had his options had to have been where ravaging seemed like the best one. Where having his arm removed in pieces by slavers hadn’t sent him running from it. 

“I was so exhausted the next time the Badoon came back I could barely stand. But I figured I was dead anyway so I didn’t even wait to be asked. I told him I was feelin’ brave, that I’d offer him the arm from the shoulder to the elbow. Shoulda known it was gonna be bad by the way he laughed. He came into my cell, grabbed my elbow and we shook on it. And then he ordered his men to take me and the Cap’n to the bridge. Chained the captain up, pantsless to the control console. And strapped me spread eagle on the navigation display. Didn’t use the cleaver this time. Was the kind a blade you use for, I don’t know, cutting fruit maybe, or picking’ your teeth. Small.” Kraglin swallows visibly and looks off to the side, shaking right hand massaging the juncture where his left arm connects to his body. Peter can see him trying to lock down whatever he’s feeling. “Took them forty-five minutes I figure, usin’ that little knife to finally get down to the bone enough to be able to twist it off. Don’t know how I stayed conscious for the whole thing, but when I heard the shoulder pop I blacked out.” 

There’s nothing to say, nothing Peter could offer to take away what happened or make it less horrible. There’s only one bright spot in the entire story. “How did you guys escape.”

Kraglin huffs a laugh and when his eyes turn back to Peter’s they're immensely satisfied. “Morons gave the Cap’n too much chain. Left us both up on the bridge after, probably figured I’d die there. The Cap’n, well once he got his hands in front of himself he could get the gag off. He killed them all and we used their ship to get back to the Eclector. I woke up in Doc’s with that piece of scrap arm strapped on, and well you know the rest.” 

Peter stares at him. The trembling is beginning to subside and the lopsided smile is more in line with how he thinks of Kraglin. He thinks the façade of a halfwit is maybe one of Kraglin’s greatest deceptions. He’s a shit gambler, but he’s always been a great grifter. “You were willing to die for him.”

“Of course. Peter, you ever known me to refuse him anything?”

“But you won’t let Rocket put in the regulator?”

Kraglin shakes his head, “I can’t. That regulator, all this tech, I can’t become more of a liability than I already am. I won't.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

Kraglin sighs, deep and put upon, like he’s drawn the whole picture for Peter who just refuses to see. “You got Araneae in your head now; so do I. She can joy ride through our brains anytime she sees fit.”

“Ok?”

“What else is in my head Pete?” He says, tapping at the sliver of silver along the left side of his head. “What’s beatin’ away in my chest, pumpin’ my blood? She built this shit Petey. You think she couldn’t control it?” It’s a desperate look that’s taken over Kraglin’s face. He needs Peter to understand, needs him to know how important this is. “When your parts ain’t yours, they’re someone else’s. And now more a me is hers, than it’s mine.”

“Krags-”

“Pete I won’t risk it. I won’t let her use me to get to him. He knew that. When we got my arm replaced, once we knew what it cost, we talked about it.” 

“So let me get this straight, you’re allowed to risk life and, let’s face it, limb for him. But he can’t do the same?”

“He’s the captain Peter. He’s what matters. I forgot that once, I won’t forget it again.” 

“He’s more than your captain man, you guys have been together...hell longer than I been around.”

Kraglin rolls his eyes, “Right, sure but-”

“Rocket tell you Yondu sold his carcass to the Collector to help pay for your parts?” Kraglin’s jaw snaps shut and Peter takes it as a no. “Oh yea, signed his body over to the Collector upon his death. You know that that means? I mean I’m no expert on-”

“No Horns of Freedom…” Kraglin whispers and his eyes water. 

“Can’t go to your death signed to someone else and have a real Ravager after life. He traded that for you.” 

“He...he shouldn’t a done that.” Kraglin says and his lip wobbles a bit. When he has a grip on himself he glares at Peter. “How could you let him do that!?”

“Like anyone _lets_ Yondu do anything! Look, no one keeps a better eye on him than you. And how exactly are you supposed to do that from this bed? Face it man, he’s better off with you at his back than he is without you. Even if he never says it.”

It’s a long pause where Peter can see Kraglin rolling what’s been said over in his head. He runs a metal hand gently down the seam where his new plating meets his flesh, before that same hand shoots out and grabs Peter by his shirt front. He yanks him in close enough that Peter can smell his breath, rank but not as bad as some ravagers have been known to get. He runs his tongue over his shiny teeth and growls in his face. “You make me a promise. You swear it Pete. I ever, and I mean EVER try an’ hurt the Cap’n, you end me. You got that? Gods know that old man ain’t gonna do it. You do NOT let me become a weapon someone can use to get to him. You do that, and the Damn Rat can come and plug me in.”


	8. Chapter 8

It only takes Rocket about 20 minutes to put the regulator in place, every component created to slot together with ease. It starts working right away and within minutes of installation Kraglin is back up on his feet, standing in front of the mirror over the infirmary sink and taking stock of exactly how much of his original body is missing. 

The plating only wraps around his one side, but it’s spine to navel, and everything between his pectoral and his pelvis. There are several large, new scars traversing the rest of his body where Rocket had to cut holes to evaluate him, but they don’t bother him as much as the cybernetics. Unlike his arm, which had been made in a brilliant red per the captain’s very special request, Kraglin’s new bits are plain silver. He twists his upper body from one side to the other, fascinated by how the metallic structure mirrors his natural muscles, few as they are. He’s so engrossed in looking at the new adornments he doesn’t notice his guest until she clears her throat. 

Standing in the door, box in hand, eyes still as black and fathomless as the... 

“Are you wearing a dress?” He doesn’t mean it to sound the way it does, rude and sort of disapproving. Baffled, really. The garment in question isn’t frilly, just a very simple black leather dress, no sleeves, with a silver broach at the neck. But even in all it’s functionality, it looks out of place on Nebula’s weaponized body.

“It’s Gamora’s. I’m….borrowing it.” Nebula says in the even tone she always has, but Kraglin can tell by the way she purposefully doesn't look at him and the tight line of her lips, he’s managed to offend her. She sets her box, a small yellow crate Kraglin is pretty sure used to house mines, on the vacated cot. 

“Uh huh. Well whatta ya think?” He asks, spinning around so Nebula can get a good look at his exposed cybernetics. “It ain’t exactly pretty, but I guess that’s fine. I never was much of a looker.”

Nebula arches her eyebrow at him and a corner of her mouth twitches. She approaches him, crowding in close, and reaches up to run a blue finger along the silver scar on the side of his head. “Ooooh,” She says, stone faced, raspy sub vocals devoid of inflection, “That’s nice.” 

It’s a beat before Kraglin can even process what she’s said, let alone respond so he stares at her slack jawed instead. When he does respond it’s with the kind of smile he know makes him look like an idiot, teeth showing on his bitten bottom lip, laugh lines crinkling the loose skin of his face. “Sweet talker.”

Nebula ignores him and returns to the cot to pop the locks on the case, “I have something for you.”

Every good Ravager loves free crap. Kraglin figures it’s part of the whole pirate, mercenary, all around unit hound “thing”. Whether it’s little “trinkety shit” or over powered new weapons, or something as mundane as new socks, getting a whole lot of anything for nothing is always a treat. Needless to say he can’t stop himself from crowding Nebula to peek inside, greedy, covetous eyes perusing the contents. He’s not sure what he was expecting but what he sees isn’t it.

“Your uniform was….not salvageable. Half of it was a charred ruin the other half was covered in all manner of bodily fluids, blood, bile-”

“I get it, but what’s that gotta do with these?” He’s looking down at a set of scarlet washed leathers, not new, but only gently worn. He recognizes his own holster and right sided shoulder guard, crumpled in one corner, but the jacket isn’t one he’s ever seen. It’s short, with only one sleeve and big lapels, cropped at the hips and finished with a buckle and a large zipper. 

“We...Gamora and I…”

“Did you guys make these?” He picks the jacket up and underneath is a pair matching red pants which appear to have been cut and resewn in several places to change it from a woman’s fit to a man’s. All at once, everything comes together, Nebula’s dress, the leathers cobbled together from the ones he’d given her on the Eclector. Gamora’s red’s too by the look of it. 

“I know you prefer to have a left arm sleeve, but I...I didn't want-” 

Kraglin interrupts her with a watery, “Thank you.” before she can tear herself and her efforts down. He’d been awake when Peter had carved up his jumpsuit and it had hurt a bit, knowing that he was gonna die, knowing his regalia wouldn’t be what he was wearing when he was given to the void. It had really ruined his idea of what his funeral would look like. No Ravager wants to go to the stars dressed in stranger’s clothes, not looking their best. 

“There’s one more thing.” Nebula says as she holds out her hand. Laid in her palm, are his Flames, bronze and red and shined like they’re new. “I didn’t want to put it on wrong.” 

Kraglin takes the badge from her gently turning it over in his hand, staring at it wistfully. Inscribed on the back is his name, his clan’s name and then his rank. Obfonteri and Udonta, the only place the names are written together that isn’t a Nova Corps criminal catalog. The words “First Technician” have a line carved through it and “First Mate” rewritten under it. One man, one rank.

“As long as the flames are pointing up, you can’t really put it on wrong.” He lays the jacket out on the cot, picks up the right side shoulder guard and slots the badge into its place before hooking the straps over the right arm. He hefts the jacket up and slips is arms into the sleeves. One sleeve anyway. The loose inner lining wraps around and ties on the side concealed when Kraglin zips and buckles the red jacket closed. It fits in a way his jumpsuit never had, no bagging waist or over-sized arms and, even worn with the bright yellow pants he woke up in, he has to admit- It looks badass. Especially with how well his cybernetic arm’s red shine matches. Before he can think of propriety he’s dropped the loose yellow pants and shimmied into the rest of the new leathers. 

“How does it fit? I only had the measurements I could gather while we were….connected.” Nebula asks, face turned away.

“Well I never had much of an ass, but these babies seem to fix that.” He says, glancing at said ass in the mirror. Nebula nods and pretends not to notice.

“Good. I’m…” She stops and seems to fumble for the word she’s looking for. “Pleased.”

“So, you gonna be stayin’ on with us?” Kraglin asks. He slips on his boots, which had been tucked under the cot, and attaches the rest of his gear; his holster, his knife and his gun. Nebula’s hands help him situate the holster at his back, and even though he’s been strapping his kit on for over thirty years alone, he appreciates her help.

“Quill has agreed to drop me on Spartax. I have contacts there, and I will find another way to acquire the weapons I need to defeat Thanos.” She says . Again Kraglin feels guilty that they weren’t able to get her the weapons that started the whole flarkin’ mess. It makes him feel like he took a shot to the gut for nothing. 

“We could still help you, I mean I could talk to the Cap’n-”

“I will not put my....friends, in anymore danger. This is my vendetta. I can, and I will do it alone.”

“Point is you don’t have to. Somethin’ you learn as a Ravager, everything’s better with the clan at your back. Even if they’re a bunch of gluttonous, untrustworthy a-holes. Strength in numbers an’ all that.” He makes a point of catching Nebula’s eyes, one of only a few people that might dare to look directly at her, and isn’t that a shame. She’s at least as pretty as her sister. “Just think on it?”

“You give a lot of pep talks as a Ravager?” She asks and Kraglin can’t help but chuckle. 

“I am Yondu Udonta’s first mate. Half my job was talkin’ the crew down from lynchin’ him at least once a week. Now, speaking of that blue dipshit, I think it’s about time I went and found him.”

***  
Kraglin finds his quarry on the bridge, no surprise there really, piloting a ship and watching space float on by is a favorite past time. Most people get sick of looking out on the void after a while, but Yondu ain’t one them. Neither is Peter, something the two had done often enough together when they weren’t at odds. Quill is nowhere to be found but Yondu isn’t alone, the baby branch and the Rodent also present, although they appear to be working on something together. 

“Did you guys tear out MY console? Flark I weren’t laid up that long.” Kraglin asks when he notices which of the stations is in pieces. Yondu doesn’t turn to acknowledge him, which is fine, even expected, but the little Groot grins big, drops the tools he’s holding and runs up to him. He’s got his viney arms wrapped around Kraglin’s leg in a hug before the Xandarian can safely extricate himself. 

“Groot! Get back here I need you to hold this!”

“I am Groot.”

“I know you missed him! But look see he’s right there! Kraglin’s fine, just like I told you! Now get back here.” It must be a sign he’s going soft, or maybe getting old, but knowing the little twig was concerned for him gives him a warm fuzzy feeling in his gut. Something he’s glad he can still feel knowing how much of him was replaced. Kraglin reaches down and hefts the little guy up onto his hip and grins. 

“What’re you doin’?”

“I’m tryin’ to set it up so you can use a direct connection to the ship via your cybernetic-”

“Uh huh, well let me jus’ stop you right there, seein’ as I like to fly my girl with my hands.” Kraglin says, sheepish and Rocket turns to give him an unamused glare. 

“I told him not to touch your console.” Yondu says, without turning around. He’s got the breathing mask back on and his words sound a little muffled through it.

“I am Groot.”

“You, did not tell me too!” Rocket shouts, throwing down a spanner. He stands up and brushes off his orange space suit and continues to glare at Kraglin.

“Look, I-”

“Don’t worry about it, no one ever appreciates all the hard work I put in so why should this be any different.” Kraglin’s sure it’s a jab over how he reacted to his new parts but he isn’t going to rise to the bait. Rocket throws several of his tools into a bag and hefts it over his shoulder, mumbling and cursing as he goes to leave the room. 

“Hey little Twig, you better go with him, keep an eye on him.” Kraglin whispers conspiratorially and Groot nods before extending his feet to the ground and running off after the angry fuzzball. 

Left alone with his Captain, it dawns on Kraglin he has no idea what to say. They’ve had fights, sure, especially with Peter being around and all the hoops Kraglin had jumped through to make sure the little bastard managed to survive when the captain wasn’t looking. But when they’ve fought in the past Kraglin usually takes a solo job or holes up on Contraxia for a week. Just something to put some space between them until they can miss each other again.

“Didn’t figure on you wantin’ to see me just yet.” Yondu says. There’s a pod of Acanti off in the distance and he’s been watching them float by for the last 20 minutes. They’re a good distraction from everything going on. If the ship were a little bit closer his fin might be able to pick up their singing. It would also put them within range of being eaten. 

“You gonna make me talk to your back?” Kraglin asks. He tries to keep his tone mild, hoping for an actual conversation and not a fist fight. Although with the way Yondu is standing stiff and straight, watching some cosmic fish in the distance, it doesn’t seem like fighting is on his mind. His captain turns to face him and Kraglin can’t help the little gasp he lets slip when he sees the bruises on his face. “Cap’n I-”

“You got new duds.” Yondu cuts him off, eyes trailing over the new leathers and sucking a deep breath through his mask. He’d tried for years to get Kraglin into something a little more suited to his station, something that fit right, but he’d insisted on wearing that slouchy, baggy jumpsuit. Something the average scrapper in the lower decks could relate to. He tries not to be jealous about someone else succeeding where he’d failed, because damn does Kraglin look good. “Are those Nebula’s pants?” 

“Yea.” Kraglin smiles and shifts from foot to foot, never really comfortable with being scrutinized like he’s being. Yondu knows the look on his face, shy lopsided grin, teeth showing but not in an aggressive fashion. It’s an olive branch he’s seen before, that he knows is going to turn into absolution. It hasn’t changed in years of fights. It’s the look Kraglin gets just before he apologizes, only this time Yondu isn’t certain he can stand to watch this man take the blame for one more thing.

“Krags, there’s somethin’ I need to say, Now I know we ain’t exactly talkers but-”

“Cap’n stop, really it’s ok-”

“It ain’t. What I did, how I did it, it ain’t-”

“Look, I get it-”

“Kraglin will you just shut up-”

“Cap’n, please-”

“I’m SORRY!” They both happen to shout it at exactly the same time, both frustrated with the other interrupting them. Yondu had expected it, had hoped to beat Kraglin to the punch, but judging by the look on his first mate's face an apology is the last thing he’d been expecting. His mouth flaps a couple times before he snaps it shut and he motions for Yondu to continue. Yondu huffs at him with a frown and starts to pace.

“I know I ain’t done a thing right in my whole damn life. Not by Stakar, not by the Ravagers, not by Quill. But I had thought I’d done alright by you. Figured I’d been a good…” his hands wave, disjointedly in the air. 

“Partner?” Kraglin prompts and the open, hopeful look on his face is tragic. He shouldn’t feel so insecure in his place, not after so many years, not after countless moments of unflinching loyalty. It just drives home all the ways Yondu’s failed him.

“Yea, that. But lookin’ at it now, after everythin’ you said-”

“Cap’n I didn’t mean-”

“You were right. Let’s face it Kraglin, I ain’t done right by you neither. That mutiny weren’t your fault. It were mine. ‘Cause I didn’t listen to ya. Our friends are dead, because I didn’t listen to ya.” Yondu pauses and looks at the gawky stick of a man in front of him. “You’ve done everythin’ I ever needed done, even shit I didn’t know I needed. And I never gave a shit about what you wanted, never gave you the consideration and respect you deserved.”

“It don’t matter, sir. You’re the Captain-”

“Captain of what?” Yondu shouts. He closes the distance between them, relieved when the other man stands his ground rather than retreat. He takes his face in his hands and gives Kraglin a little shake, something he’s done with Peter when he needed to get his point across. “The Eclector’s gone, Krags. You an’ me are all that’s left.”

“You’re still MY Captain!” 

“I don’t wanna be your captain right now, boy.” He smooths a thumb over a drooping eyebrow, over a prominent scar and under a watery blue eye. “I wanna be your…” He chokes on the word, like he always does. There’s so much fear in saying it out loud, in putting the label in his own mouth where it could be said to the wrong person. Where it could be used against both of them. “I wanna know what you want.”

“Yondu…” Kraglin mumbles hands cupped over the back of his captain’s. 

“What do you want, Krags? Just tell me. I’m listenin’ this time. You wanna retire on a tropical planet an’ live off of fish and sun, we’ll go. You wanna go recruitin’ and rebuild the clan, we’ll do that. Just tell me what you want.” 

“To be with you.” Kraglin says, and it’s so earnest, so simple. “Look I know I said some things I shouldn’t have. And I’m sor-”

“Don’t you dare apologize for that. You were right.”

“I weren’t. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. Let’s face it, I weren’t nothin’ before you.”

“That ain’t true.”

“It is true. Lemme show you.” Kraglin pulls away from him and heads to one of the few pilots consoles on the bridge. He hits a few buttons, one of the few Ravagers with an intimate knowledge of all the ships systems, If it came to it, Yondu’s pretty sure Kraglin could have run the Eclector all on his own. A moment after he punches those buttons several arrest records pop up onto the front screen of the cockpit. Quill’s, Tullk’s, and a handful of other Ravagers, with names, dates and... “Lookit that there. Known Associates, Yondu Udonta and Kraglin Obfonteri. My name next to yours, someone worth noting. I’m someone worth keepin’ track of. I coulda stayed a nobody oiler on Xandar, fixin’ Nova Corps cruisers, barely gettin’ by. Being a Ravager made me someone, you made me someone.”

They both fall silent for a moment, but Yondu can tell Kraglin isn’t done. “I forgot that. Durin’ the mutiny, an’ here when I woke up. You’re the most important thing in my life, an Sir, I ain’t gonna sit here an’ let you talk about MY Captain like you been doin’ no more.”

“Kraglin-”

“You an’ me both know this is where you wanna be. Here with Petey.” 

“We both know you can’t stand Quill. Never could. I ain’t gonna keep makin’ you miserable. I can’t fix all the shit I done wrong, Krags, but I can fix this. I can do right by you!”

Kraglin shakes his head, hands propped on his hips. “I was angry, that Quill could act like he did, that he could hurt you like he did, an’ you just kept lettin’ him. I hated watchin’ you beat yourself up for that ungrateful brat.” Kraglin’s shoulders slump. “An’ then I woke up and did the same thing. Jus’ like I did with the mutiny.”

“You wanna talk about mutiny? I betrayed you, Obfonteri. You asked me for one thing and I couldn’t-”

“An’ I betrayed you to Taserface, worse ‘en that I betrayed all our friends. I’m the only mutineer in this room Cap’n. If you could forgive me for that, I can forgive you for savin’ my life.” Kraglin’s mechanical arm flexes for a moment and Yondu can’t help but stare at it. It really is a beautiful cybernetic, and it’s a shame it’s taken this long for Kraglin to feel comfortable with it being on display. “I just want to be with you, follow you. Stand at your side and watch your back. An’ if being here with Quill is where you wanna be, well then I guess we're both gonna be Guardians of the Galaxy, sir. Beside me an’ Pete, I think we got an understanding now.”

“So you wanna stay? Here on the Quadrant, with the Guardians of the flarkin’ Galaxy?” Yondu asks, skeptical. 

“Pfft, well not if you’re not gonna be here.” Kraglin gives him a toothy metallic smile and Yondu feels a weight that’s been settled in his rib cage begin to lift. Neither one of them is prepared for the music that starts playin’ over the intercom on the bridge.

_ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka_  


Kraglin squints up at the ceiling and Yondu rolls his eyes.

“Goddamnit, Quill knows I hate this damn song.” Yondu laments running a hand over his forehead.

“Don’t lie, sir, we both know you love this damn song.” Kraglin says, chuckling. When the singing starts Kraglin’s eyes light with an idea. He places his right hand against his hip and crouches slightly, one foot turned out, the other one straight ahead. When Yondu notices his posture he smiles before mirroring him.

Meanwhile in the Quadrant’s security observation room, Peter sits, munching on some kind of flaky chip and watching the scene on the bridge play out via the security feed. His Zune is plugged into the overhead intercom so the songs can be heard throughout the ship. 

“What are you doing up here?” Gamora’s voice sounds from the entrance and Peter gestures her in. She doesn’t cuddle in close, or slide her hand in his, she’s real and not his dream. 

“I’m watching these two morons make up.” He says, gesturing to the tiny Yondu and Kraglin on the screen. They’re circling each other, right hands on their hips and left ones held out palms up.

“What are they doing?” Gamora asks and it’s obvious she thinks Peter’s description of them is apt. They do look like morons.

“You’ve never seen a Ravager Jig?” When she shakes her head, Peter sighs and points at the pair. “Okay watch, the feet are important, hands to.” 

“I didn’t know Ravager’s danced.”

“Oh yea they do, and these two, they’ve been doing this the better part of thirty years.” The pair on the screen begin the footwork, ankles to ankles, twice and then heels to heels with a spin and repeated. It’s always reminded Peter of clogging. “Now wait for the kick.”

“The kick?” Just as she says it, both Kraglin and Yondu’s right feet connect at the sole. Gamora thinks the looks on their faces are more in line with fighting, but maybe that’s just Ravagers. Everything is a fight, even dancing. 

“Ok so whoever gets pushed back farthest, loses, and the winner gets to decide who leads.” Just as he says it, Yondu’s legs bow before pushing all the way out and Kraglin is scooted across the floor. He doesn’t lose his balance, but it’s a near thing. When he stabilizes himself, he gives a little bow in concession. “Yondu get’s to pick.”

“And he’ll lead?” 

“Maybe. Watch the hand.” When Yondu offers his hand to Kraglin palm down, Peter can’t help the smile. “Guess not.” He says, Watching as Kraglin takes the offered hand and dips his captain low. Yondu wraps an arm around Kraglin’s waist, palm turned out, and Peter tries not to shudder when he brain tries to overlay his mother’s visage over Kraglin. There’s a voice, an echo in his head he’ll ignore. This is good, this is the way his world should be.

“I’m glad they’ve reconciled.” Gamora says, and she places her hand in his. There’s an unspoken thing in her eyes when she smiles at him, and Peter can’t help but think it’s better than his dream.

“Yea, me too.”

_There’s nothing more important than family._

~end of line~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE MADE IT!! so when I started this it was just supposed to be 2 chapters. and then done. Instead you guys got this 8 chapter monstrosity, and I have been so grateful for your comments and support. Fun fact: I have started many Fanfics but this is the first one I have ever finished. I hope you guys enjoyed this and didnt find that the whole thing has been a waste of your time. 
> 
> I do have plans for an epilogue and sequel. But I don't want to get your hopes up too high. There are other fics in the "One Armed Kraglin" verse that may stand on their own. 
> 
> Until then, thank you again for all the love and support.


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